Spearhead: When Hope is Lost
by Darksider
Summary: StargateBSG2003 UPDATED APRIL08! Pursued and harrassed across the Galaxy, the Colonial Remnant is finally brought to heel by the Cylon Fleet. Out of luck and out of hope, their only chance lies with the discovery of a strange circular ring...
1. Default Chapter

When Hope Is Lost

A Stargate: Spearhead / Battlestar Galactica 2004 Crossover

By Andrew Seivewright and Jon Harper

Chapter 1

Stranger's in a strange land

)) Day T–minus 104 ((

)) 11th April, 2031 A.D ((

)) Somewhere in deep space… ((

Captain Kara 'Starbuck' Thrace gave a mild grunt of dissatisfaction as her Viper's secondary scanner array suddenly, without warning, dropped offline. A year ago, she would have been cursing her crew chief, hitting the console and raging at the universe in general but now, all she could seem to summon up was a mild curse. She wished she could put it down to wisdom, experience and the mindset of her rank but in reality, it was simply due to extreme fatigue.

The Cylons had been pursuing the Galactica and the Colonial Remnant for over three years. Three long, hard years, with little respite. Though the last Cylon engagment had been nearly three months ago, the Galactica was beginning to come to the end of her operational endurance. A shudder passed through Kara as she thought about the state of the drives of the rest of the fleet. With only two exceptions, they all were of civilian manufacture and had neither the built-in redundancies of military vessels, nor the effective range.

The Colonial Remnant had covered nearly 50,000 light years which was far, far beyond the conceivable operational range of an Class III Endurance-type Battlestar, such as the old Bellerophon. That the Galactica, a Class II Line-type Battlestar, had lasted this long was a testamant to its construction. The fact that only eight of the civilian vessels had been abandoned due to unworthiness was an even more amazing.

But, as she reflected tiredly, the Fleet finally had seemed to reach the end of their limits. With over a dozen vessels on the verge of failure, Commander Adama was looking for a habitable planet where they could rest up for a while, to restock the food supplies and, hopefully, do a little mining for much needed fusion ores and metals for even more needed repairs.

"Problems, Captain?" Lt Anu 'Swiftsure' Reed called out over the comm.

Starbuck glanced out to her right and saw her wingman's Viper fly straight and steady less than twenty metres away. The spacing between the two fighters was incredibly tight considering the vastness of space but on these long range patrols, things could get kinda lonely and having company in visual range was more than a little comforting.

"Frackin' secondary scanners just went offline." She replied calmly.

"Huh." Swiftsure replied with a grunt. "Mine went a week ago. I'm told by Logistics that 'the Fleet lacks enough parts to repair everything' and as long as we have primary systems, everything else is on hold."

It was Starbuck's turn to grunt now since Swiftsure hadn't told anything she didn't already know. Looking back down into her Viper's cockpit she started punching keys and rerouted extra power to the primary sensors to compensate for the lack of secondaries. Almost immediately, she was rewarded by a faint blip right of the edge of her sensors, nearly thirty light years away.

"I got something." She announced. "Faint energy signature, bearing 064, attitude 021!"

"Copy, Lead." Swiftsure replied tightly. Though the Fleet had not heard a peep out of the Cylons for three months, everyone nervously awaited their return. "Doesn't look Cylon." He added, sounding not one bit less suspicious.

"Yeah." Her eyes widened slightly as the computer's analysis finished and a small line of text flashed up on her screen. "Anu, I'm getting a Code 46 from the computer."

"What!" Swiftsure exclaimed in surprise. A Code 46 was a relatively recent addition to the Colonial Warriors's booked of procedures that stated the pilot was to, unless facing certain death, discontinue current activities and investigate whatever had instigated the code's activation.

Starbuck continued to read the computer's continuing analysis. "Apparently the signal's near identical to that which was discovered in those ruins we found on that world we stopped at…what? Five months ago?"

Inside is cockpit, Swiftsure shook his head. "I was laid up in the Infirmary with the flu. Never saw the surface."

Starbuck smiled wryly as she reefed her Viper into a tight turn, putting them both on a course for the distant signal. "Pretty impressive for a bunch of rocks. Seems that they were made of a mineral no one had ever seen before. One of the pieces Baltar brought back practically sent a bunch of the scientist-types hyperlight all by themselves. The ruins were kinda creepy tho'. Haunted."

"I guess that's why they tagged a Code to the stuff." Swiftsure commented after a bit. "Ready for hyperlight, Captain."

Starbuck was silent for a moment. "Acknowledged. Hyperlight in three…two…one." Her hand closed around the drive controls and sent her fighter faster than the speed of light while, pinning her firmly back into her seat and making her guts twist with nausea as, her mind detached itself from these feelings and drifted back to that bright afternoon on a strange world where, sillouhetted against the intense white sun, stood the remains of a massive ring of stone.

****

Five Months Previously

"I want the harvested grain and fresh water on the next wave out. The fruit and veg can wait. We've got some hungry people up there, folks. We survived the Cylons and I'll be damned if a little thing like starvation will kill us!"

Major Talo Sung, Head of Fleet Logisitics, glared balefully at the drafted workers as they lugged containers of badly needed food towards the waiting cargo lifters. He had been one of the first people to be sent down to the planet once scans from orbit had revealed a lush, virgin world full of plant life.

Science teams from the Celestra had performed a hasty but detailed bio-survey and deemed many plant-forms nutritious and, thanks to one impetuous worker, tasty even. Workers, drafted from across the Remnant, had been deployed to gather whatever plant-life the bio-science team had deemed safe and it seemed like the Fleet would be able to survive a little longer.

Sung shook his head when he thought about the need to scavenge for food. They could travel the stars faster than light, yet they had to stop to strip planets of anything edible. 'I bet the Cylons don't have to stop for anything.' He thought sourly.

The survey had been on the verge of wrapping up when they hit the jackpot. A survey team, led by Gaius Baltar was investigating a strange, faint signal coming from the equator. They arrived at the signal's location to find a handful of ruins. It had appeared to have been a village or small town, pre-industrial, but completely deserted. The damage looked fairly recent.

Almost immediately, Baltar's science team was doing handstands over finding, among the village buildings, a shatted monument, the remains of a ring-like structure, covered in symbols, made from a previously unseen material that combined the better properties of stone and metal with a few twists of its own. And the stone was OLD, far older than the buildings around it though it HAD been destroyed at the same time, and very recently if the analysis was correct. That little fact had made Adama go to full combat alert, even though the weapon signatures didn't match anything used by the Cylons seen so far.

A little more investigation into the surrounding area, however, revealed the real prize in Sung's eyes, several large, overgrown fields, where all kinds of crops had been planted and left unharvested.

A fair amount of crop was overripe but the vast percentage of it was salvageable. It also allowed the hydroponics division to harvest new seed stock that would effectively triple their available output, which was pitifully low since the Cylon attack didn't exactly allow them to take on vital supplies for a one way trip from the base of support.

The find had given the Colonials a better foundation for a long-term future. Sung, the headache of shifting tonnes of food into orbit finally beginning to recede, left the airfield and headed over towards the encampment amongst the ruins.

The harsh afternoon sunlight washed over everything as he saw handful of colonial warrior stood silently before the strange monument, amidst the hurried activity of Baltar's scientists. Sung smiled. The scientists were barely looking at the edifice with their eyes, preferring to admire its beauty though their scientific instruments. The colonial warriors ignored the excited chatter of the scientists and instead, lost themselves in the strange beauty of the ancient artefact, whose remaining symbols corresponded with lines from the ancient scrolls of Kobol.

)) Combat Information Centre, Battlestar Galactica ((

"Commander Adama?"

Adama, commander of the last Battlestar and weary protector of the Remnant of the Twelve Colonies of Man, turned to face the young Ensign at the communications station. "Yes?"

The ensign's painfully young face was marred by dark circles under hers eyes, the exhaustion of the continuous stress and long hours having taken their toll. "Commander, I'm picking up a communication from Captain Thrace, sir. They diverted from their patrol to investigate a energy signature. The report has a Code 46 attached to it.'

Adama glanced at Colonel Tigh with a raised eyebrow. The taciturn Colonel managed a shrug without seeming to even move his shoulders.

The Code 46 had been Baltar's idea though neither man had any expectation of it really amounting to anything. Adama had no real reason to say no and so had implemented it and added it to the existing 45 command protocols.

"Location of the energy signature?" Adama asked curiously.

The ensign tapped her controls and gestured towards the primary navigation display. "A type-III star system, fifty two light years spinward from our position."

Colonel Tigh grunted. "Not exactly out of our way."

Adama smiled. That would be the extent of the old warhorse's enthusiasm for investigating the signal. He turned to the status board. He scanned the readiness states of the various ships in the fleet. With the exception of a single red light, the other ships were showing green. Adama glared at the red light that represented the '_Harvest Dream'_, a RO/RO compact freighter that used to run punji rice and grain between the colonies before escaping the slaughter.

"What's wrong with the Dream?" He demanded. He bit back from saying _again_ but everyone heard it anyway.

"Her hyperlight drive's fine for once. It's her inertial compensators this time around." Captain Gaeta at the Fleet Operations station reported. "They overheated on the last jump and an engineering crew was taking the down time to overhaul them." He shook his head. "It's gonna be at least an hour before they're complete."

Colonel Tigh's face reddened with anger. "You get on the horn to that crew and tell them they'll be done in a third of that time or I'll shuttle over there myself and by the time _I'm _done, they'll only be good for painting the hull of the _Galactica_!"

Adama nodded in agreement and began to address the entire CIC staff. "People, it may have been three months ago since the last contact with the Cylons but if anyone thinks they've given up then they're plain deluded. If the Cylons attacked now, we would have no choice but to abandon the _Harvest Dream_, the people on board and all the food its carrying. We're still tired and we need a break but pass the word to all the people below you. If something prevents the Fleet from making a jump immediately, at any time, day or night, you do not sleep until that problem gets fixed! Is that clear?"

Heads nodded round the room.

Adama turned to Gaeta once more. "Tell the engineering crew to expedite repairs. I want to be able to hyperlight within thirty minutes."

"Aye, sir." The captain replied.

As everyone returned to their jobs, Adama turned to Tigh. "Start keeping a closer eye on the Fleet's status. I didn't realise how sloppy we were beginning to get. This Code 46 may turn out to be a whole lot of nothing but at the very least, it's given us a wake up call." Adama shook his head with weary amazement. "An hour…"

"Hey, Ty? You in here?" Lieutenant Commander Sharon 'Boomer' Valerii called out in the container-filled chamber of Storage Unit 12.

A muffled reply came from her left. She smiled wryly and made her way gingerly past a precariously piled stack of containers and towards the sudden sounds of cursing.

"OW! Crap! Goddamn stupid piece of sh…hey, Boomer!" Master Chief Tyrol greeted her as she stepped from behind a tall array of shelving units. He was sucking his finger furiously.

"What's going on?" She asked, an amused smile on her face.

Tyrol sighed heavily. "I burned out the last flow regulator this morning. I was hoping to find a power feed adjuster that I could rig to work as a flow regulator."

A novel if unorthodox, and typically 'Tyrol' solution, she thought. "So what's the problem?"

"We appear to have run out of power feed adjusters as well. The Quartermaster swears on his firstborn that there's at least six around here but I've been searching for almost an hour and all I've got to show for it is a busted finger."

The forlorn and frustrated expression on Tyrol's face was just too cute for words so Boomer simply stepped over to him and kissed him soundly.

Caught off guard by the sudden show of affection, Tyrol quickly regained his balance and deepened the kiss with enthusiasm. Several moments later, they separated breathlessly.

"You're in a good mood." Tyrol gasped when he felt steady enough to speak.

Boomer smiled coyly. "I just finished an easy shift and I haven't _seen_ my man in a while."

Tyrol grinned inanely. "Well, we'll just have to _see_ if you can get _seen_ as soon as possible."

"Oh purr-leeezze, will you two just screw each other already!"

The two lover's heads whipped round to see the amused face of Petty Officer Cally, leaning against the wall, a complex-looking bit of equipment in one of her hands.

Looking slightly embarrassed, Tyrol smiled at the young woman. "I'll assume you're not after a peepshow, Cally, so what can we do for you?"

Cally shook her head with mild exasperation, suppressing her own reflexive blush. "Tigh's on the warpath. Apparently, Starbuck and Swiftsure found something and Adama wanted to go hyperlight to check it out but some engineering pukes didn't have their shit together and we couldn't make the jump."

Tyrol winced with mild sympathy for the engineering team in question. "There but for the grace of Kobol…"

"Exactly." The younger woman offered. "Tigh's going round the _Galactica_, tearing strips from the departments heads just on principle, I think, so I figured I'd better come and give you a heads up and cover for you while you get into body armour or something."

"He's not that bad!" Boomer protested. "He's more like a teddy bear, most days. He growls a lot but it only makes him cuter."

Tyrol turned to stare at his girl as Cally's eyes widened. "Chief, you'd better fix Boomer quickly. She's obviously an innocent, a little delusional and clearly a danger to others if she calls Tigh a teddy bear while there are witnesses."

Boomer didn't know whether to be amused, shocked or outraged and her face was an interesting mixture of all three but when Tyrol started to chuckle, she relaxed with a grin and then began to laugh herself.

The wall mounted speaker crackled to life.

MASTER CHIEF, REPORT TO OBSERVATION, MASTER CHIEF, REPORT TO OBSERVATION! 

Cally sighed. "Nice knowing you, Chief."

Tyrol frowned at his young protégé. "Thanks a lot, Cally."

As she headed towards the door, Cally paused with a grin. "Oh, if Tigh does turn out to be a teddy bear, ask him if he want's to be the _Galactica's_ mascot."

As the young PO skipped out the stores room, Tyrol chuckled as he kissed Boomer on the cheek in parting.

"What's funny?" She asked.

"Ignoring the whole teddy bear thing," Tyrol replied with a smile. "Tigh really is the ideal mascot for a warship." And he left her alone in the stores.

Boomer stood amongst the dwindling supply of spare parts, looking thoughtful. "Tigh? A warship? I don't see it, guys!" She called out after them.

)) Planet IV, System 2195-4212B ((

"Energy signature just spiked." Swiftsure announced excitedly as the flight of two Viper's flew hard and fast in-system. That last hyperlight jump brought them into normal space, well inside the inner system after pausing at the asteroid belt to perform a more intensive scan of the system. The past seven years had managed to teach Starbuck a modicum of caution.

"I got it." Starbuck replied. "Went up by nearly a thousand percent." The scans hadn't revealed any ships or spaceborne activity of any kind. Just the same energy signature that had, until now, appeared to remain at a consistent level.

"That's one hellacious energy output!" Swiftsure added, suddenly more than a little nervous. "Are you sure it's not Cylon?"

"Yep." She replied. "And it's definitely coming from the southern continent." Starbuck reported. "Picking up signs of civilisation. Roads, cities. No major lifeforms though. Zero activity."

"We going in? Those craters look suspiciously like orbital weapon fire." Swiftsure asked curiously, referring to his computer display that revealed ominous craters that dotted the landscape. Their glassy surface was a tell-tale sign of high energy impacts. "Galactica should be on her way by now."

Starbuck shook her head. "If they received our signal, they should have been here twenty minutes ago. They're probably stuck playing mother hen for the duration."

"So we go down?" Swift asked again.

Starbuck smiled in anticipation. "We go down."

Her Viper bucked and shuddered as it punched through the atmosphere but it was over before it barely had a chance to begin. With Swiftsure in extended formation, about a mile out on her wing, she blasted through the cloud layer and, seconds later, the thick cloud parted and she was confronted with a riot of different shades of green. Grasslands, jungle and forest, the planet seemed to be alive but unkempt. On the horizon, her eagle eyes could make out the stub-like foundations of the ruined city from where the energy signature was emanating.

In less than a minute, their Viper's were orbiting the ruined city, looking for a place to set down. The city was very geometric, laid out in precise grids and blocks, with only the occasional angled road cutting through the neatly organised squares. Rubble and burnt-out shells of vehicles dotted the city, stumps of dead trees lined the roads and walkways. Despite the devastation, the two pilots could easily imagine a beautiful, thriving city.

Swiftsure spotted a stretch of clear road that was good enough for a rough runway. "I got us a strip!"

Streaking between the shattered buildings, they swooped down low, bouncing across the road before coming to a stop, less than a kilometre from the energy signature.

As she popped the canopy, the planet's fresh air assaulted her senses. The canned air of the Galactica simply couldn't compare and though it would be a dark day in hell before she admitted it to anyone, the first breath of a planet's fresh air after a tour of duty onboard a ship was always a secret pleasure of hers. Taking a precious few seconds to absorb her new environment, she finally sighed and began to unstrap herself from her seat. With an ease borne of long practice, she climbed out of the cockpit and, lacking a convenient staircase, dropped to the ground. As she stood up and took in her surroundings, the silence of the city become immediately oppressive.

"No reaction to our landing." Swiftsure commented quietly as he made his way over to her. The buildings, or what remained of them, were essentially square towers of metal and stone. Holes had been punched into the walls and ground eveywhere. "Looks like there was a major battle here."

Starbuck shook her head. Her hand not far from her blaster strapped to her thigh. "I don't think anyone's been here for a long time." Pulling a palm computer from a pocket, she consulted its readings. "That way." She pointed towards a low cluster of buildings that seemed to surround a wide, open plaza.

Walking at a steady pace, they constantly scanned their surroundings. The only sound was the wind and the occasional birds squawking. They both found this sound oddly comforting. In less than ten minutes, they found themselves standing in the plaza.

Starbuck's palm computer was scrolling data about the location of the energy signature but she didn't need to read it. For in the centre of the plaza, in front of a strange pedestal with a red crystal at the centre, stood a familiar sight. A massive stone ring, almost exactly like the one she saw previously but this time, it appeared wholly intact. Angular crystals were embedded around its circumference and strange symbols adorned it. Baltar had managed to find a handful of intact signals from the previous ruins but apparently lacked enough of a sample set to make any progress decoding their meanings.

"Captain?" Swiftsure breathed out in awe. "What is it?"

"Hell if I know, lieutenant." She replied. "But it looks like it's in one piece. That's more than enough to give our illustrious Baltar a kick in the pants. Can't wait to see him bounce off the roof."

Reluctantly pulling her eyes away from the magnificent sight of the ring, she noticed a small vehicle sat nearby. She frowned as something about it sent warning bells ringing.

"Swiftsure, what do you make of that little truck?" She asked quietly, never taking her eyes off the small six-wheeled machine.

Swiftsure turned in the direction of Starbuck's gaze, saw the vehicle and shrugged. One of the native vehicles without it's panels?" he wondered, referring to the small machine's stark appearance. Compact, rugged and tough looking, it had a set of gripping appendages and scanning devices.

That was when she realised what had been bothering her. "It's not damaged!" She exclaimed to the other pilot. "Everything else we've seen here so far looks like it went five rounds with a Cylon battlegroup. That thing looks untouched! It doesn't even look weathered."

Swiftsure was no idiot. "So it's a recent addition. Question is, how did it get here?"

Starbuck said nothing but her eyes kept glancing between the machine, the pedestal and the ring. It was all too obvious and the idea was scaring the hell out of her.

Swiftsure, seeing what she was looking at realised what she was suggesting in her mind. "No way!"

Shrugging helplessly, Starbuck waved her hand at the ring. "Look at the ramp. The damn thing's set up like a gateway to some place!"

As if on cue, the massive ring whirred to life. A second ring, set into the outer ring began to rotate and before it had even got started, it stopped and the first crystal on the ring glowed with inner energy. The ring began to turn once more before suddenly stopping and allowing another crystal to activate.

"Aw hell!" Starbuck cried out, simultaneously pulling her pistol and training it on the ring as well as pushing Swiftsure towards a nearby overturned derelict transport. "Take cover!"

They reached the wrecked transport just as the last crystal activated. The ring made a strange 'whirrring' sound before silver water seemed to fill the space inside the ring and then exploded outwards.

The two pilots cried out in shock but the explosion of silver water retreated just as quickly and settled into a weird sort of vertical, shimmering pool of light.

"What the….?" Starbuck whispered in awe. She wished Apollo was here to see this. Though he gotten kinda stiff as he got older, as a kid, he used to love strange new things. The stranger, the better, she thought wryly.

The pool of light rippled intensely and, quite unexpectedly, two figures that looked disturbingly Cylon-like emerged from the gateway. Each carrying wicked looking rifles, they stepped down to the bottom of the ramp and then spent several moments studying the surrounding area intently. Despite their machine-like appearance, they were unlike any Cylon she had ever seen before and they lacked the most recognisable Cylon feature, the slit eye with its unnerving side-to-side scanning element. These new figures had a blue slit eye and moved much more fluid movement than the usual Cyon war machines, suggestive of something biologic beneath all that metal.

Starbuck held her breath and hoped beyond hope that they weren't Cylons and that they wouldn't see her.

As if the very thought was a signal flare, both armoured warriors turned to look right at her.

Her grip tightened on her weapon as she waited for them to make their next move. She heard Swiftsure give a vile curse when the two figures began to walk towards them. "Hose 'em!" She cried out and began firing her pistol in earnest.

Caught by surprise, the two unknowns made no movement to evade the shots.

What happened next would have caused even Apollo's famous stoicism to wilt somewhat, as the volley of explosive tipped projectile rounds slammed unerringly into the chest of both figures and achieved precisely nothing. The rounds simply richocheted off with firefly sparks.

No scorch marks, no dents, no nothing. That frightened her even more for those penetrator rounds would have been enough to put down a Type 4 Cylon war droid. Despite their apparent immunity, the two armoured warriors ran for cover, one taking up position behind the crystal pedastal in front of the stone ring and the other ran behind the six-wheeled vehicle.

"Frack!" She cursed. "Swiftsure, we've got to warn the _Galactica_! You make a run for your Viper, I'll cover you."

The other pilot, not happy about running, was disciplined enough to immediately obey orders. He passed her his spare blaster magazine and readied himself for a sprint away from the fight.

"Watch yourself, Starbuck." He replied softly.

Starbuck nodded with a reckless grin that only made her face seem years younger.

With one last wave, Swiftsure gritted he teeth and began to run to the nearest exit from the plaza. Starbuck turned back to her position at the edge of the overturned transport and fired her pistol furiously at the two figures who, though not hurt, had at last stopped advancing on her position.

Once more, her blaster bolts slammed into her targets for precisely no effect. To her horror, one of the figures smoothly raised his rifle towards the still running Swiftsure. The long rifle tracked his progress smoothly despite her blaster bolts hitting his side and with a bare second's hesitation, the stranger fired a pulse of energy into his back.

"NOOO!" Starbuck screamed as Swiftsure's body arched with apparent pain and tumbled lifelessly to the ground. She had lost another pilot! She fired her blaster with renewed anger at the killer of her friend. Unfortunately, as she focussed on him, his friend had moved quickly around the other side of the overturned transport.

She caught the motion of his arrival out of the corner of her eye and though she reacted quickly, she couldn't bring her weapon around fast enough. A bolt of energy flew from her attacker's rifle and slammed straight into her chest. A sudden warmth suffused her body and as the darkness overcame her, her only thoughts were that of Apollo and the _Galactica_.

)) Presidential Suite, Colonial One ((

PLEASE PREPARE FOR HYPERLIGHT TRANSITION! 

President Laura Roslin smiled at her long time aide, Billy Keikeya. He had managed to make it back to Colonial One before Adama made the jump to yet another new system. His face was lit with joy after seeing his wife, Chief Petty Officer Dualla, if only for a short while.

"How is she, Billy?"

Billy smiled broadly. "Good ma'am. And getting bigger everyday, though I hesitate to mention it."

"Wise of you." Roslin replied dryly. "What do you make of this Code 46 business Baltar has gotten us into?"

Billy frowned in thought. "Baltar's a certified genius and the rest of the science staff are no slouches either. If they think something is worth our attention, we should probably pay attention."

Roslin smiled. "Very good. And don't forget the boredom factor, either. Our people need to be kept interested in life. Exposed to new things. Motivated. It's all to easily to keep running from the Cylons, or to keep searching for the Thirteenth Tribe and accept that as our lot. A lot of the Remnant don't believe in the possibility of finding Earth. After so much time, finding a habitable world and settling down is fast becoming an attractive proposition." She shook her head. "There's more to life than the necessities and anything we can do to provide that extra spice is well worth doing." The bittersweetness of her words reached out like a familiar friend. Her cancer, while slow in its advancement, _was _advancing and it's unescapable death sentence made her remaining years all the more vivid.

"Yes, ma'am." Her aide replied with a quiet smile, unaware of her thoughts. The President never stopped teaching. Then he frowned slightly. "Do you believe we'll find Earth?" Billy was one of the few people to know that Adama was using Earth as a reason to give the Remnant meaning, without holding out any hope of actually finding it.

Roslin shook her head, pulling aware from the mental rut she occasionally found herself slipping into. "I just don't know, Billy. The 'evidence' in the Histories, the prophecies, the hints…it all points to something but we've been travelling so long…" She sighed. "Regardless, we can't stop to colonise a new world, not with the threat of the Cylons still over us. It's been three months but I don't think they've given up, do you?"

It was Billy's turn to shake his head.

The President grimaced. "Neither do I. And neither does Adama and that means we go on."

ATTENTION. HYPERLIGHT IN THREE…TWO…ONE…NOW! 

)) Planet IV, System 2195-4212B ((

Starbuck groaned as the dull pounding in her head rouse her from a sound sleep. _SLEEP? I SHOULD BE DEAD!_ The thought made her eyes fly open. The intense sunshine instantly made her regret the rash maneuver as the pain behind her eyes doubled.

"Hurt's like a sonofabitch, don't it?" A voice commented wryly somewhere to her left.

Raising a hand to shade her sensitive eyes from the blast, she squinted and made out one the armoured figures squatting next to her. Her heart suddenly started to race in panic but as she looked up, her gaze wasn't met by the cold, merciless visage of a Cylon but by that of a sandy haired kid, probably no older than twenty-five years old.

Her confusion must have showed plainly on her face for the stranger smiled wryly. "Not what you were expecting, huh?"

Starbuck shook her head in confusion. Human? Then another thought occurred to her. "Swiftsure! You killed him!"

The young man in the armour frowned in confusion. "Your friend? He's over there, just waking up, like you."

Starbuck turned her head in the direction of the stranger's gaze and saw Swiftsure, alive and well, being helped to a sitting position by the other armoured trooper. His helmet too, had vanished to reveal the head of a man with skin so dark it was almost black.

"Who are you people?" She asked tightly. The pain behind her eyes wasn't exactly conducive to diplomatic niceties.

Fortunately, the other man seemed to understand, though he wasn't taking any chances. She noticed he still kept his hand firmly on his rifle and, though not pointed in her direction, he could shoot her once more with very little effort. He opened his mouth to repy when a new voice, strident and demanding, called out from towards the stone circle.

"Lieutenant Reese! I must protest this high handed action against the natives!"

Starbuck grinned slightly as the sandy haired man, who she presumed was Lt Reese, sighed and rose from his squat reluctantly to face the newcomer. Pushing herself up to a sitting position to see who else had arrived, she felt reassured that these newcomers had their fair share of pompous fools. It made them seem a lot more 'human'.

In front of the stone ring and it's liquid, shimmering surface, she saw a group of five humans and two more armoured troopers carrying exotic rifles. The man whose voice she had heard a moment ago was heading towards them with a determination that made it seem as if nothing on the planet would stop him once he had decided to go somewhere. Kitted out in a long overcoat that covered a utility suit of some sort that, in turn, carried an assortment of tools and equipment.

"Professor Soames, you know quite well these aren't natives, or anything of the sort. The previous SG team to scout this planet clearly proved it was long abandoned." Lt Reese replied exasperatedly.

The Professor was barely unperturbed by the soldier's logical rebuttal. "That is neither here nor there, Lieutenant. I simply do not think it is appropriate to simply exit the Stargate and begin to shoot anything that moves."

Starbuck heard the word 'Stargate' and filed away the name for future reference. Still sitting on the sun-warmed stones of the plaza, Starbuck decided to enter the conversation. "We shot first."

Taken aback, Professor Soames stared down at her like some sort of bug and Starbuck realised that whatever he was a professor of, it wasn't philanthropy. Whatever concerns he had about Reese's attack upon her rested solely up whatever he could use as ammunition in was appeared to be a clash of wills.

"You fired upon Lt. Reese?" Soames asked with a curious expression, as if he couldn't decide whether to hang her or give her a medal.

Starbuck smiled somewhat sheepishly. "I thought he was a Cylon."

"A what?" Reese asked, his face blank of any recognition of the name.

Starbuck felt a cold breeze blow though her. "Cylons? Unstoppable killing machines? You know, destroyer of the Twelve Colonies of Man!" At there continuing blank expressions, she sighed in resignation. "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

The two men shook their heads. "Young lady, we come from the Alliance. Of which, you are on the outer reaches. Our exploration teams found this world several weeks ago and the clear signs of Goa'uld invasion demanded a more intensive survey. We're here to perform that survey. You are a complete surprise to us."

Reese smiled wryly. "More for some than others." He said, brushing absently at his chestplate.

Starbuck winced slightly at the obvious reference to the volley of shots she had sent his way. "Sorry about that." She mumbled.

"No harm, no foul." Reese replied amiably. "Tell me more about these Cylons." He requested firmly.

Starbuck opened her mouth to reply when a strident beeping from her belt caught everyone's attention. She smiled as she reached for her belt and pulled a small electronic device. She punched a quick code into the small keypad on the front of the unit and raised it to her mouth. "Starbuck here."

A firm, commanding voice issued forth from the radio. "Starbuck, this is Apollo. I'm less than a minute from atmosphere. Where are you?"

Starbuck rolled her eyes at the strangers. "I'm at the same location as the energy signature. Lock in on my Viper and you'll find a place to set down."

"Acknowledged." He replied tersely. "How's the leg?"

Starbuck hoped the sudden tenseness she felt didn't show outwardly as she replied casually, trying hard not to glance at the strangers. "I'm still getting twinges. It'll probably ease up with some more exercise but if you bring some more cream, I'd feel more comfortable."

"Roger that, Starbuck. See you in ten. Apollo, out."

Starbuck put her communicator away and, schooling her expression into a neutral mask, she turned back to her captors.

"Your superior?" Reese probed gently.

The Colonial woman frowned. Though they obviously hadn't killed her and Swiftsure, she still didn't know about their intentions. They looked human enough but that didn't mean squat with the advanced technical abilities of the Cylons.

Recognising the sudden reluctance of the woman to reveal any more information, Lt Reese simply smiled knowingly and turned to on of his squad. "Higgins, fire up the 'Gate. I need to talk to base."

"Hold on, sergeant." Professor Soames countermanded. "What are your intentions, Lieutenant?"

Reese simply smiled. "We're scrubbing the survey, Professor. You're going home."

"What?" The other man sputtered.

Starbuck watched with amusment as the two men argued furiously for the next five minutes.

"This city's not going anywhere, Professor." The Lieutenant replied with sudden finality and gestured towards Starbuck. "We have a First Contact situation and that's not your field and way above my pay grade. Hence, we phone home."

The Professors heated reply was halted by Reese's sudden raised hand and a curios expression.

"We're being scanned." He stated as his armour began to beep furiously, eyes scanning the surrounding buildings for the source of the scan. Any reply was overshadowed by the squadron of Viper's that streaked low overhead in a deafening crash of sonic booms.

As everyone staggered from the almost physical impact of the shockwaves, Colonial Warriors, heavily armed and in body armour, appeared from several approaches around the plaza, weapons drawn. Two Raptors suddenly popped up from behind the wrecked remains of a skyscraper, weapons armed and locked on the small group of strangers, their approach having been masked by the buildings.

Despite the sudden appearance of dozens of armed troops and air support, Lt Reese and his men reacted with speed, diving for cover as they deployed their helmets and raised their rifles, ready to return fire. Soames reacted with more sense than Starbuck would have given him credit for as he and the other scientists dived for the floor but she barely had time for the thought as Reese slammed into her, dragging her to the floor near to the overturned wrecked vehicle they had used for cover previously. He had his weapon aimed at her threateningly.

"We're surrounded, LT." Sgt Higgins called out gruffly.

Reese nodded with studied calm. Their hand weapons were no match for his armour and he doubted their bigger weapons could do all that much either though there was the air support and the fact that Soames and his team weren't armoured!

"Call your people off!" He ordered Starbuck harshly. "We're not here to fight and I don't want to kill your people!"

Starbuck shook her head with mild shock. She knew Apollo would be worried about her but she'd told him in code that though she these people were a mystery, they weren't an immediately threat to the Remnant. She couldn't understand why he'd prepared a full assault to recover her.

"Release our people, Cylon!" A powerful male voice rang out in the sudden silence of the plaza.

Reese frowned, bewildered. "What the hell's a Cylon?" He muttered in frustration and turned to Starbuck. "Contact your Boss. Call him off. We only want to talk!"

Starbuck nodded, unsure whether Apollo would listen to her. Something must have seriously spooked him if he was reacting like this. She was starting to think these strangers might be Cylons after all.

"Apollo?" She said into her communication device.

"Starbuck, are you alright?" Apollo replied concernedly.

The woman nodded, even though he couldn't see her. "I'm fine. Lee, what the hell are you doing? These people just want to talk."

Apollo's voice sounded grimmer than usual. "I pulled a deep scan, to see who we were dealing with. They're infested with machines, Kara! These must be an older model or something 'cause we spotted them right off."

Starbuck stared at Lt Reese with rising horror. Reese, on the other hand, frowned with confusion. "I don't know who you think we are but we only want to talk. Pull your men back and let's meet."

"Did you get that?" She added.

"Yeah." Apollo replied flatly. "Okay. Starbuck, you and the Cylon come out slowly. I'll meet you in the middle. No weapons."

"No weapons." Reese agreed.

Taking a deep breath, Starbuck stood up slowly. Looking around, she recognised her fellow warriors tense and set expressions. Reese gestured for her to go first and she, slowly, stepped out from behind cover and walked towards Apollo who too, had begun to walk from his position behind a crumbling wall at the edge of the plaza.

Silently, they closed the distance. The only sounds were the wind and the whine of the two covering Raptor's engines as they hovered in the distance, their weapons tracking everything.

Meeting in the open space between the two forces, hands held loosely at their sides, Lt Reese studied the other man called Apollo intently. While the Alliance soldier's questing gaze was open but wary, the Colonial Warrior's tightly controlled expression barely masked his hatred.

"Are you okay, Starbuck?" Apollo asked tightly.

Starbuck nodded jerkily. Her old friend was wound tight. "These people don't act like Cylons, Lee…"

"You haven't seen the bio-scans from the Raptors. Their bodies are full of microscopic machines. A couple of those soldiers even have mechanical implants." He spat back in disgust.

Starbuck suppressed a shudder and turned to Lt Reese, her face dark suddenly dark with anger. How could she have misjudged him so? "Why didn't you kill us when you had the chance, Cylon?"

Lt Reese frowned at the sudden turnabout in the other woman's emotions. "Look, I don't know who or what these Cylons are but I'm pretty sure I ain't one! The machines in my body are Alliance standard nano-meds. They increase my body's natural abilities. Speed, endurance, healing. Kinda handy for a soldier to have, ya know?"

"So you choose to debase yourself! What about the mechanical implants?" Apollo sneered, glaring at the two soldiers in the distance as if, at any moment, they would rip their skin off to reveal a Cylon underneath.

Reese shrugged. "We can regrow limbs easy enough but sometimes a person might opt for a bio-technic implant. Usually military-types do it but sometimes a civilian will choose a bio-technic. There's no stigma attached to having one. Even comes in handy now and again."

Apollo shook his head, as trying to rid his mind of the very concept of machines roaming about his body. "Surrender yourselves, Cylon and we won't be forced to kill you."

Lt Reese's expression hardened. "I'll tell you one last time. We're are not Cylons and if we won't surrender for the snakes, we sure as hell aren't gonna surrender to a handful of jumped up soldiers with a bug up their ass about our technology!"

"Don't think I won't give the order to open fire, machine!" Apollo pressed grimly.

Reese knew that he and his squad could fight and survive long enough to leave via the Stargate but Professor Soames and his team where another matter entirely. "If it comes to a fight, a lot of people are going to die for nothing. Let my people go and I'll surrender willingly."

Apollo glanced at Starbuck briefly before speaking. "Where would your people go? Do you have a hidden ship?"

Starbuck shook her head and gestured towards the massive stone circle in the distance. "They came though that device." She stated flatly, before Reese could reply.

"What?" The other pilot replied cautiously.

Starbuck shrugged. "I don't get it either but that 'thing' activated and they stepped out of it like it was some crazy doorway. Never seen anything like it."

Apollo shook his head. This was all too much. "Fine. Release the other pilot and I'll let your people depart through that…thing."

Lt Reese sighed in acceptance and activated his com-link implant. "Reese to Higgins, you follow all that?"

Though the Colonials couldn't hear it, the sergeant's voice showed clear reluctance. "I don't like it, sir. The Old Lady will have my ass if I leave you here."

"You have your orders, Sergeant." Reese added sternly.

A simple double-click of acknowledgement greeted the order and less than ten seconds later, Swiftsure stepped out from behind the overturned wreck and headed hastily towards Reese, Starbuck and Apollo.

The Colonials watched warily as the three armoured soldiers and five scientists slowly made their way over the stone ring and the pedestal with the large, red crystal in front of it. One of the soldiers pressed a quick series of symbols on the device and the massive stone circle rumbled to life.

Fingers tightened on triggers but curiosity stopped them from firing as the circle rotated round, almost hypnotically. Fiery red chevrons lighting up around the edges every few seconds until all seven crystals were lit. Silver liquid seemed to explode from the stone circle and almost as quickly retract to leave a shimmering, vertical pool of quicksilver.

A small corner of Apollo's mind noted that the strangers were quite unaffected by the sudden explosion of strange energies whereas quite a few of his Warriors were completely distracted by this amazing sight.

After several seconds, the five scientists quickly ran into the pool of light, followed by two of the soldiers. The last remaining soldier paused at the top of the ramp. Lt Reese nodded firmly and the figure in the distance seemed to sigh. A physical expression that clearly showed, even wearing a complete armoured suit. The soldier turned and stepped into the light that subsequently dissipated with a soft snap.

Lt Reese turned back to his captors. "Now what?"

Apollo gestured for his warriors to come forward and a couple of dozen stepped out into the open, their weapons pointed firmly at Reese. "Now, we get you back to the Galactica and see what Baltar makes of you."

Reese glanced at Starbuck. At seeing the Stargate in action once more, she found appeared to find it harder to convince herself that they were Cylons despite what Apollo had said about the machines in their bloodstream. Her expression told him of her inner conflict and Reese smiled slightly. _'Their revulsion of technology might make them knee-jerk xenophobes but they're by no means stupid. Maybe I'll live long enough to convince them I'm not a threat and find out who these Cylon bogeymen really are…'_


	2. Chapter 2 & 3

Hi, thought i'd just say a few words, answer a few questions before you start reading the second part of When Hope's Lost.

First off, my thanks to everyone who commented on the story so far. Personal policy prevents me from stating names in an open forum but you all know who you are and what you wrote. My thanks, and the thanks of my co-conspiritor Jon Harper, we appreciate everything you've said.

On a similar note, we've had quite a few 'firm' emails about the speed of our updates. I'll say only this: you'd probably enjoy the bloody stories a lot less if we just put out any old crap. So relax, read some of the rest of the wonderful fic to be found on and enjoy our updates when they occur.

Okay, corrections and explanations. Firstly, i made a couple of errors. I screwed up the timeline a little bit, something that Jon and a few others picked up on. I had meant to fix it before publishing but i'm an idiot. It's fixed now tho. The Galactica scenes are set roughly three years after the destruction of the Colonies. Chapter one has been modified to reflect this.

Next is the 'Day T-Minus 104' part to my chapter headings. essentially, something pivotal occurs in 104 days. Everything you are reading describes the events leading up to that day.

Hyperdrives on the Vipers. Controversial, I know. Jon, the BSG side of things, tried his best to get me to take them away but I need them to advance the plot in certain ways and, in my eyes at least, its a minor issue. (oooh, gonna take cover after that one.)

Oh, ship sizes! Yes, I was using the numbers off the BSG2003 website, and yes, I did get the actual measurement used wrong. (I used metres instead of feet. ouch.) I'm afraid to say it but unless someone can give a me a really unique reason to change the G to 4000ft, its gonna remain a big beastie. Oh, plus I want the Battlestars to be able to carry more than what, 24 vipers? shrug> A 4000ft battlestar is going to look puny against one of the Alliance's monitors.

Well, i think that covers everything. As always, feel free to talk to us. Comments, suggestions and, yes, even flames are welcome. We won't promise to change things 'just because' but we will listen. 

Chapter 2

There are old warriors, and there are bold warriors…

)) Day T–minus 104 ((

)) 11th April, 2031 A.D ((

)) Babel - Alliance Military HQ, Colorado, United States, Earth ((

General Jack O'Neill, Supreme Commander of the Alliance Military, sank into the chair behind his desk with a sound that was half a groan and half a sigh of relief. "I'm getting too old for this shit." He announced to no one in particular.

General Samantha Carter glanced at Teal'c, a small smirk on her lips despite the current sombre situation. Jack's 74th birthday was fast approaching and though Alliance nano-meds and anti-gerone treatments could keep a person young and vigorous for decades longer than normal, he had already been in his late fifties by the time the current medical advances of the Alliance had been available to the people of Earth and the treatments were less effective the older you were.

"Jack, Hendosia is well beyond our frontiers. We were lucky that the _Copernicus_ was close enough to pick up their distress signal in the first place." Sam stated quietly. They had already gone over this discussion numerous times.

O'Neill frowned darkly. Hendosia was a fairly advanced world, about equal to Earth just before the Alliance but after the finding the Stargate. They had fallen prey to one of the few remaining smaller System Lords that were situated well away from Alliance territory. The more advanced Goa'uld Motherships had swept Hendosia's skilled but meagre space force aside and had placed their world under siege when, after received their distress call, Admiral Patterson had dispatched an rescue force with haste to that beleaguered planet.

The System Lord's fleet had been numerous but not particularly powerful compared to an Alliance heavy carrier battlegroup and the Motherships had been swiftly dealt with. Unfortunately, much damage had been done by the Motherships and the invading Jaffa before the Alliance could arrive and in less than a day, a massive supply of medicine, food and housing, along with a full Construction Battalion had already been arranged and sent on its way to Hendosia.

_Yes_, Jack thought grimly, _we've gotten very good at locking the door after the horse has bolted_.

"It's not good enough!" He replied with tightly leashed anger. "I want the remaining System Lords brought down but the goddamned Council is still fretting over the butchers bill!"

Sam shared another glance with Teal'c, who continued to sit passively. Though the big Jaffa had steadily become more talkative over the years, he still found the best way to handle Terrans, and O'Neill in particular, was to let him talk through whatever was bothering him.

"Jack, the Council might have a point…" Sam replied hesitantly.

Jack glared at her half-heartedly. Of the more powerful System Lords, only Lord Yu remained, his territory of a more modest size compared to the explosively expanding Alliance but almost as heavily defended. To get to the other smaller System Lords, they would have to remove Yu from their path, or risk exposing their attacking flank to Yu's forces. Unfortunately, removing Yu militarily would cost the Alliance heavily in ships and personnel.

Jack shook his head and scanned his office, as if looking for a distraction from the current problems besieging him. Considering his position, his office here at AMHQ was relatively small and considerably bare and unadorned. Not far from Cheyenne Mountain and the SGC(East), AMHQ was situated at the centre of North America's newest city. Built from the ground up as center of operations for off-world activities, it had quickly expanded to become something more, something grander, with a population of over two million and rising. Officially, it was still called AMHQ, but mainly, everyone had taken to calling it Babel, referring to a religious text that described a place where the people of the world came together to build a tower reached to the heavens where they could stand together and speak with one voice.

Babel's population contained not only people from across the Earth, but sentient beings from all across the Alliance. And not just human-type aliens either, for at least 100,000 of the bear-like Sintesians had made their home here, as well as Entricans, Polarians, L'zee and even fair number of Susparti. Babel was about as cosmopolitan as it got and was still growing. It was here that the various cultures of the Alliance were beginning to truly grow together.

"Sam, the Council are good people, despite a few members dragging down the average I.Q. They simply can't face the prospect of sending people off to fight, knowing that massive casualties are unavoidable. They continually ask me to find ways of reducing expected losses…and J'Thuk and my staff are working miracles in that regard but goddamn it, there's a limit to how long we can hold back to refine our plans before the added time gives Lord Yu to outfit his defenses to an even greater extent, ultimately defeating the extra planning done in the first place."

Carter nodded acknowledging. "Diminishing returns."

"Exactly." Jack replied. "A point I think we've already reached. We need to move now. The new monitors are coming on-line soon. The _Patterson_ has almost finished its work ups and should be released to Third Fleet in less than a week. In two weeks, her three sister ships will be finished. Those big sons of bitches, combined with the improved _Ark Royals_, with their upgraded shields and armour, should give us a solid core of offensive firepower. J'Thuk says he'll need about a month to integrate them into the Fleet and then he'll be ready to move." He grinned. "The old bear is even more impatient than I am."

Sam smiled wryly and turned to Teal'c, who ran Ground Force Training Command. "What's the Ground Force's viewpoint?"

Teal'c's eyebrow went up like clockwork. "Marshall Tadeshi Roberts has expressed a similar impatience. His people are, however, fully online. My training units are performing admirably though we do seemed to have reached a recruiting plateau. The number of new applicants is relatively high, but has remained constant for the past four years. I understand that Fleet Training Command continues to report a similar situation."

Jack shrugged with surprising equanimity. With the removal of the Goa'uld as an actual threat to the Alliance, the enthusiasm to join the Alliance Armed Forces had slowed considerably from its previous explosive rate. It had, however, been expected well in advance of its occurance and had been carefully planned for.

A short, musical tone filled the room. "Yes?" O'Neill called out.

The disembodied voice of his permanent aide, Colonel Catherine Krupskaya, spoke quickly and clearly. "Sir, we've just received a Flash message from the SGC. General DeSoto reports a hostile first contact situation with one of his survey teams. No shots were fired but they detained the unit commander while letting the rest go. He's gone to level two alert and has readied an assault team to launch a rescue but is now requesting instructions. I get the feeling this isn't a standard situation."

"I agree." O'Neill replied. "DeSoto knows his stuff this kind of event falls well within the boundaries of his command. Tell him we're on our way, Kathy."

)) ANS _Enterprise_ Battlegroup - Sector 12 Alliance/System Lord Border ((

Flexing his fingers absently, Admiral of the Fleet J'Thuk watched his repeater display intently as Vice Admiral Windrunner manoeuvred his forces aggressively in the face of the current provocation from Lord Yu's fleet. Long-range scanners had picked up several squadrons of Hat'tak's entering Alliance territory at different points along a thousand light year front, deep in interstellar space, each heading towards an inhabited world.

The massive bear-like Admiral grunted as two of the Mothership squadron's retreated in the face of decisive intercepting deployments from two of the Alliance Fleet bases along the frontier. See the Motherships retreat, obviously unwilling to engage the Alliance Navy, the base commanders ordered his ships to continue on their courses but at a reduced speed, allowing the Goa'uld to retreat. Nobody was of the opinion that they had penetrated Alliance space to fight anyway.

The Vice-Admiral, stood in front of the primary tactical hologram of the Flag CIC, looked at his Tactical Action Officer with a small smile. "Send the word, Billy."

Lord Yu had been performing these feints for several months now, obviously amassing a lot of data on Alliance Fleet deployments and response times but it couldn't be helped. They had to respond yet, they were ordered by the Alliance Council not to cross the border and engage Lord Yu's forces.

J'Thuk shook his head abruptly, giving the Sintesian equivalent of a resigned sigh. After the previous head of the Alliance Navy, Admiral Kent was killed in battle, during the Aschen Incident, four years ago, J'Thuk had become Admiral of the Fleet and as such, had began to accrue a fair degree of political awareness.

He understood the reasoning behind the orders from the Alliance Council but, like all military commanders, he didn't like being asked to fight with one hand tied behind his back.

His snout suddenly pulled back in a very human-like smile as the ploy from Windrunner was put into motion. He was with the _Enterprise_ battlegroup simply as an observer, leaving full operational command to the Vice-Admiral, and from the way, he was handling his forces, J'Thuk had no qualms about entrusting such responsibility to the Navaho Admiral from Earth.

On the repeater display, the Mothership squadron the _Enterprise_ battlegroup had been tasked to intercept saw the incoming battlegroup and had dropped out of hyperspace, to allow it to turn back into System Lord territory. Unfortunately for the Goa'uld commander, he had been focusing his sensors on the intercepting battlegroup and was caught by surprise as a cloud of Alliance fighters and bombers suddenly erupted from their rear.

The fighters and bombers slashed into the stunned Motherships, pelting them with ion cannon blasts, rail gun rounds, flechette missiles and naquadria bombs. The Motherships writhed under the assault and precious seconds were lost trying to defend themselves, rather than jumping back into hyperspace.

In those precious seconds, however, the _Enterprise_ battlegroup had closed the gap. A handful of fighters and over a dozen bombers died under the guns of the Motherships, but the rest hit back hard, before the Motherships could launch their Death Gliders.

The Admiral's Chief of Staff watched the operational timeline intently on a secondary display as he called out, "Hyperspace emergence in three…two…one….MARK!"

The _Enterprise_ shuddered as she and her battlegroup decanted from hyperspace, right in front of the Motherships.

Alliance Intelligence had predicted a possible series of incursions sometime over the course of the next twenty-four hours and, though they were wrong sometimes, they were also right a lot of the time.

Vice Admiral Windrunner has wasted no time sending a squadron of Shadow AWAC/EW spacecraft into Goa'uld territory to provide advance warning of the predicted incursions.

When receiving word of the advancing Mothership squadrons from the Shadow squadron, Vice Admiral Windrunner had launched virtually the entire fighter and bomber complement of the improved-_Ark Royal_ class carrier _Enterprise_ and pre-positioned them near the border, with orders to stay powered down and inert and await the signal to attack.

Now, with the fighters and bombers occupying the Motherships, the _Enterprise_ held back with two destroyer squadrons as a screen, while her escorting battleships and cruisers charged into the fight.

Ion cannon turrets indexed round and locked on to the massive golden pyramids. A storm of ion bolts swept across space and slammed into the shields of the Motherships. White energy coruscated over the Motherships as their shields tried to dissipate the titanic energies involved. Particle lances sliced through the weakened shields of the enemy and carved deeply into the hull and secondary superstructure, causing grievous damage to the pyramids, teasing explosions to life in their wake.

The Motherships returned fire, plasma blasts reaching out and washing over the Alliance ships but it was all for naught. Eleven fighters, twenty seven bombers, an Alliance heavy cruiser, two light cruisers and seven destroyers died under the enemy's guns but in return, nine Hat'tak's and their Death Glider complements were destroyed.

"Well done, everybody." Vice Admiral Windrunner congratulated calmly. Only the tightness around eyes gave any clue towards the butchery he had just ordered. "Secure from battle stations. Begin SAR and recovery operations immediately. Any enemy survivors get transferred to the _Helsinki_."

J'Thuk nodded with studied detachment. The loss of life on both sides was appalling but the exchange rate in tonnage was better than four to one. They could win this thing once and for all if the politicians would just let them. Yes, the price would be high but, by the Galaxy's Light, it would a price worth spending to rid the Universe of the Goa'uld once and for all.

)) SCG(East) Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado, United States, Earth ((

Lt General DeSoto, formerly CO of the Spearhead military facility and now head of Stargate Command here on Earth, studied his readiness board and nodded in satisfaction. His lean, trim figure gave away nothing to his age and though he might have lacked the bulk of some of his contemporaries, he routinely threw most of them around the sparring mats thanks to lighting reflexes and a cunning mind.

He currently had four Assault Teams of around 150 troopers waiting to move out from Earth, Spearhead, Sintesia and Polaris. The 111th Heavy Infantry on Gryphon, under Brigadier General Bannon, had also been ordered to stand to, just in case the situation developed into something really serious.

The ambush of the survey team and capture of its squad leader could be taken as a minor event when considering the scale of the current war with the System Lords but, from the survey team's reports, these new people were not Jaffa, they hadn't acted like Goa'uld and they were definitely not indigenous to the planet. That made they new players on the block and a possible threat. Three decades of war had not left the people of the Alliance unwary to the unknown dangers in the Universe.

"General O'Neill has arrived, sir. He's on his way down now." DeSoto's 2IC reported. Physically, the opposite of DeSoto, the lead CO of the SG teams at Stargate Command was a massive bull of man with blonde hair trimmed so short so as to be almost bald and having next to no neck, Colonel Zhirnovski could have been a professional wrestler, despite his Russian heritage. "General Carter and Teal'c are with him."

DeSoto looked over at Colonel Zhirnovski and smiled. "Excellent. Get Sgt Higgins up here. O'Neill will want to talk to the man and get his report firsthand."

"Yes, sir." The other man replied.

Less than ten minutes later, O'Neill strode into the Command Centre and despite all the new technology, the holo-displays, computer interfaces and such, he still felt he was coming home. He heard a faint sigh from Carter and pushed memories of the past back down. He was here on business.

"Thanks for coming, sir." DeSoto greeted O'Neill with an outstretched hand.

O'Neill shook it. "No problem." He glanced at the displays in the room. "What's your status?"

DeSoto frowned. "Unchanged. Survey team 11-Alpha returned from PX412-551B minus their squad leader. Previous probes had revealed the remains of a recently destroyed civilisation. The team went through, encountered a group of people who then agreed to let the survey team return through the Stargate in exchange for having the squad leader, a Lt. Reese, remain behind. Though not exactly standard procedure, I've endorsed Lt Reese's decision. From the sound of things, this wasn't your average belligerent culture."

"Hence, you requested my august presence." O'Neill finished wryly. "Do you have any of the survey team handy?"

DeSoto nodded once and looked over to a group of people standing to one side. "Sgt Higgins?"

A tall man, with skin the colour of coal, stepped forward. "Sir."

O'Neill watched the other man carefully. "Your impression of the people that took Lt Reese?"

Sgt Higgins frowned heavily. "Pretty average for humans, sir, or so I thought. As soon as they realised we used bio-technology, nano-meds and such, they freaked. Strange considering that they weren't exactly low-tech people. Their weapons and ships looked pretty sophisticated."

Carter looked puzzled. "They were technologically advanced but they were revolted by the idea of technology inside the body?"

"Essentially, ma'am." Sgt Higgins shrugged. "I've seen weirder reactions but not by much."

It was Teal'c's turn to look thoughtful. "It is possible something in their past has made them wary of utilising technology in such a manner…"

O'Neill shook his head. "Save the psycho-analysis until later. Right now, I want to know what our options are."

DeSoto grimaced. "Limited as far as I can see. I reopened the Stargate about an hour ago and successfully made contact with the MALP. It's been moved about two hundred metres from the Stargate and is isolated inside some sort of pre-fab building. It's picking up numerous lifesigns all around the immediate area."

"Lt Reese's transponder?" Carter asked immediately.

"In orbit." DeSoto replied tightly.

"So they came by ship." O'Neill concluded.

Sgt Higgins nodded. "They had no clue about the Stargate, sir. Stared at it like grass green newbies when we dialled up."

As everyone pondered that, O'Neill moved towards a wall screen that displayed a map of the galaxy. A prominent white dot showed the position of the world in question, about two hundred light years beyond the hazy border of the Alliance, towards the rim of the Galactic northeast. He studied the display intently.

"DeSoto, hold off on the attack, just for a day. We'd need a Puddle Jumper to get to Reese anyway and it'd get taken out before it cleared atmosphere. I'm getting strange vibes from this whole situation."

"So what do we do?" DeSoto asked cautiously.

"I'm gonna get in touch with Admiral J'Thuk. He's out at the front 'observing' again. He'll be happy as hell to go out there with a battlegroup and put these people in a hurt locker."

Carter winced. "The Diplomatic Corp will go beserk."

O'Neill waggled his finger from side to side. "They've already acted hostile towards an Alliance unit. That means the military get to make the decisions until we've brought them to the table for a chat." He shrugged. "Look, I'm not gonna order J'Thuk to go in guns blazing, but having the Fleet go out there will be a hell of a lot more effective than having our guys go in on the ground and hold their people hostage."

At Carter's doubtful expression, O'Neill sighed. "Okay, notify the Corp of our intent and request they ready a full First Contact team. And see if they have any people without nano-meds or bio-enhancement."

"They'll be rare as hell," Carter replied, "but I'll what they can do."

"Good." O'Neill finished. "DeSoto, get a full report ready for Admiral J'Thuk. I'll append it to my orders."

A chorus of acknowledgements came back and everyone went their separate ways, leaving O'Neill standing next to Teal'c in the middle of the Command Centre.

"Whaddya think, big guy?" he asked.

Teal'c looked troubled. "Many things are still unclear. That entire sector is still essentially unexplored."

O'Neill grunted in agreement. "And what we don't know could possibly kill us."

)) ANS _Enterprise_ Battlegroup - Sector 12 Alliance/System Lord Border ((

"Excuse me…sir?"

J'Thuk turned round to see a communications tech standing behind him. "Yes?"

The painfully young human male passed him a datapad. "A message from SGC-Earth. It's General O'Neill."

The Admiral nodded his thanks and began reading the message and its attached datastream. After several minutes of scrutiny, J'Thuk put the datapad down and brought up a deployment map of the Galaxy on his repeater display.

"Problem, Admiral?" Vice Admiral Windrunner's voice probed gently.

J'Thuk looked up to see the human nearby, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. "O'Neill has just advised me of a developing situation in Sector 49. Fleet Base Triton is dispatching the _Yiang Sun_ and her battlegroup to cover this station. How soon can you ready the _Enterprise_ battlegroup for a speed run to that sector?"

Windrunner shrugged slightly. "If we detach our cripples to await the _Yiang Sun_ battlegroup, we can be ready in less than thirty minutes."

J'Thuk nodded thoughtfully. "Then do so. I'll arrange for replacements to rendezvous with us as soon as they can. Meanwhile, get us moving to Sector 49. I'll brief you and your commanders as soon as we're on our way."

Windrunner smiled tightly. The Admiral of the Fleet's reputation for wasting no time was well deserved. "Aye, sir."

Chapter 3

To Judge a Book…

)) Day T–minus 103 ((

)) 12th April, 2031 A.D ((

)) Detention Control - Battlestar _Galactica_ ((

Commander Adama studied the camera feed from detention cell 8 with a thoughtful expression. The captured soldier from the surface, a Lt Reese, was sat calmly in a chair at the centre of an empty cell, despite his hands secured behind his back and two heavily armed guards stood behind him. The internal scanners were probing deeply into his biology and as far as anyone on the medical staff could ascertain, he was very much human.

"It could be a trick. A sensor distortion of some kind." Baltar suggested patiently.

Adama shook his head. "Then why the clear indication of microscopic machines in his bloodstream? Why hide a greater sophistication by revealing a lesser one?"

Colonel Tigh sighed deeply. "I don't like it anyway. So what if he's human? Those machines are likely to be controlling him like a puppet! He's probably an early model infiltrator."

Baltar winced, unnoticed by the other two men.

Adama turned away from the screen to face Baltar and Tigh. "What about his armour?"

"Inactive." Baltar replied sourly. "From the scans, it contains a highly sophisticated suite of computers and electronics, comparable at least to Cylon technology. Once our guest removed the armour, it powered down and we've been unable to restart it."

"Good." Tigh interjected harshly. "Is it wise to restart the damn thing, even if we could? If it's AI controlled like we suspect then it could probably move all on its own, and if our weapons are as ineffective as Starbuck reports, we could have a hell of a time stopping it. In fact, I'm recommending we jettison the damn thing."

Baltar suddenly looked alarmed. "We can't do that! I haven't had a chance to study it in detail yet!" he turned to Adama with desperation in his eyes. "Sir, of course we don't want to activate the computers but the armour…imagine, if we could analyse the composition of the armour, we could probably make the _Galactica_ damn near invulnerable!"

Adama looked at Tigh with a raised eyebrow for the edgy scientist had also made a valid point.

Tigh grimaced. "Then we isolate it in a cargo container with life support and drag it outside the ship. The techs can shuttle over and study it in complete isolation."

"That would make things incredibly difficult, Colonel." Baltar replied with a frown. Number Seven had just appeared behind Adama and was gesturing for him to follow her outside of the control room.

The Commander shook his head. "Difficult or not, Doctor, that's the best I can afford to give you. The risk of letting an hostile AI onboard the _Galactica_ is too great."

Baltar nodded and turned to leave the Control room. "I'll get right on that."

Adama grunted and, along with Tigh, turned back to the screen. Apollo was just entering the room, carrying another chair.

Number Six was stood in the doorframe to a small utility room. Baltar grimaced his distaste but opened the door and led the way in.

"We want the armour." The beautiful blonde announced imperiously.

Baltar snorted in reflexive amusement. "Get in line."

Number Six smiled predatorily. "Gaius, don't be like that. Haven't we left you alone long enough."

"And why is that, hmmm?" Baltar asked grimly. "Three months and not a peep from a base ship or a raider."

"We've been occupied." She replied airily, running a non-existent finger across the dusty surface of a nearby shelf. "But this new factor intrigues us."

"Hard to imagine why." Baltar replied, his voice laced with as much sarcasm as he could inject into it. "The Twelve Colonies may not have been that much of a threat, but these new people might be a whole different story."

"I doubt it." She snapped in response. "But we haven't come this far without planning for all eventualities. We want the suit, we want this Lieutenant Reese and we want the Stargate on the surface of the planet below."

Baltar stared at her with undiluted hate. "And just how do you suppose I can produce them for you? Would you like me to ask Commander Adama to wrap them all up, tie a little bow on them and say, here, take this as thanks for giving us a little time and space to hope and rebuild."

"Yes." She replied simply.

Baltar snorted in disgust. "Try again."

Number Six rolled her eyes. "Three base ships will be arriving in a matter of hours. You are about to arrange to have the armour suit placed inside a cargo container and towed outside the _Galactica_. This is ideal. All you need to do is to find a way to have the prisoner outside as well when we arrive. Adama will hardly hold the Remnant here to retrieve a machine-infested prisoner. The Remnant will jump to hyperlight, leaving the suit, the prisoner and the Stargate behind."

She leaned over and whispered intimately into his ear. "Under the circumstances, we'll forego the wrapping and the bow."

"Well."

Reese looked up at the Apollo's proclamation and suppressed a smile. This was like something out of a bad movie.

"I would ask if you're okay but machines don't get tired, or hungry or thirsty, do they?" Apollo inquired flatly. He placed his chair opposite the prisoner and sat down in it. He never took his eyes off of him.

"No, they don't." Reese replied. "But I'm sure as hell hungry. My shoulder's are beginning to ache and I could really use the bathroom, so tell me, does that sound like a machine to you, buddy?"

Apollo smiled insincerely. "Sarcasm, my how advanced you machines have become."

Reese shook his head. "Data goes in, data goes out. What is your problem, man?"

"My problem, machine, is the forty billion people of the twelve colonies you MASSACRED THREE YEARS AGO!" Apollo replied heatedly.

Silence filled the room as Apollo struggled to calm down and understand appeared in Reese's eyes. The Alliance soldier's mind worked furiously, the whole attitude behind these 'Colonials' beginning to make a hell of a lot of sense now. Unfortunately, trying to convince the subject of such horrendous crimes of your innocence under such circumstances would likely prove to be impossible.

He had to try anyway.

"Look, Apollo, wasn't it? I'm not your enemy. Until yesterday, I had never heard of you and your people. I'm as human as you are. I come from a small town near Illinois. My parents died when I was very young. I have a girlfriend and two sisters. I really hope I can see them again one day. It's a big Universe, Apollo, full of wonderful and horrible things but if I can assure you of anything it is that the Alliance had NOTHING to do with the massacre of your people."

Apollo stared at the restrained man for several silent minutes.

"Where's the closest Cylon base ship?"

Reese frowned, the question not registering at first.

Apollo smiled darkly. "We haven't encountered a base ship in weeks. Where is the closest base ship?"

"I wouldn't know." Reese replied with mounting frustration.

Suddenly a white light seemed to explode behind his eyes as fire ran though his nerves. His teeth gritted together against the pain, Reese jerked against his restraints. After an eternity, the pain disappeared as abruptly as it arrived and his was left sagging in his chair, his breath coming out in gasps.

"Energy surge." Apollo explained quietly. "Diverted from the ship's primary power systems to a series of coils in the chair you're sitting in. Crude, but effective on both the organic and the machine."

"I don't know anything…" Reese panted. This was like a bad movie and if this followed anything like the traditional script, he was in for a hell of a lot of pain.

Apollo sighed. "You know quite a lot, I reckon. Let's start with the location of the nearest base ship."

"Go to hell."

The lights dimmed noticeably as the screams began.

)) Presidential Suite, Colonial One ((

Several hours later, President Roslin was sat with her aide, Billy, reading the initial reports from Commander Adama, Gauis Baltar and the surface team investigating the artefact the prisoner had apparently called the Stargate. The prisoner, still undergoing interrogation, was reluctant to reveal any information but apparently, Major Apollo had managed to divest him of a few basic snippets of data so far. The most disturbing piece of datum they had was that he comes from some sort of Alliance of worlds that utilise the Stargate to travel instantaneously across the Galaxy.

She looked up at Billy. "Not a lot to go on, is there?"

Billy frowned, still reading. "If anything, we have even more questions than before."

"Such as?"

He grimaced. "Like who the hell he really is. He sure as hell looks human, the med-techs say he's essentially human yet everyone seems convinced he's actually a Cylon in disguise."

Roslin looked troubled. "You don't agree."

"No, ma'am." Billy replied firmly. "I think he's from a race who are extremely comfortable with advanced bio-technology and we are projecting our own biases upon him. The Advisory Council is pushing the interrogation hard." _Too hard_, he didn't say out loud.

The President looked away and stared out of the nearest viewport. "He says his 'nano-meds' help keep him healthy and extend his life considerably." _Enough to cure cancer?_

"A couple of the more open med-techs agree with that assessment, ma'am." Billy reported softly.

"What of the Stargate?" She asked.

Billy shook his head. "Someone on the other side has activated it a couple of times but nothing has come through. We picked up burst transmissions between the wormhole and that small vehicle that we've quarantined but little else. The ground team have tried to activate the Stargate using the control pedestal in front of it but with the exception of the Naguchi symbols, have had little success. The possible combinations number in the millions."

Roslin nodded silently. The report stated that many of the symbols on the Stargate matched with those found in the Book of Kobol. One of the more historically minded techs, a Jimmy Naguchi, had tried a seven symbol series that was emphasised in one particular section of the Book of Kobol. The symbol sequence actually seemed to work up to a point, with the device and the surrounded area literally thrumming with power but as they entered the last symbol, the Stargate seemed to reject it and the sequence wouldn't complete.

"The chapter of the Book, where Naguchi found the symbols…"

"Yes, ma'am." Billy replied. "It deals with the Thirteenth Tribe."

Roslin had guessed as much but Billy's words still caused her to breath in sharply. "Go talk to whoever it is you talk to, Billy. The Advisory Council will have had time to read this report by now. I need to know what their feelings are before we meet in three hours."

Billy nodded, his youthful features grim. As he reached the door, the President's voice reached out once more.

"Billy, are we making a mistake?" She asked softly, gesturing towards the _Galactica_ in the distance.

The younger man's face was tensely set. "I think so, ma'am."

"Have you seen the prisoner yet?"

Billy looked away and shook his head. "No. Major Apollo has the Detention area under a complete lockdown. No one gets in or out with his, Tigh or Adama's say so."

She sighed deeply. "The Council can wait. Go to the _Galactica_. Visit our guest. Ask him where he's from. Specifically."

"And pray that we're wrong. Yes, ma'am." He replied, and then left.

Roslin returned her gaze back towards the _Galactica_. "Lord help us if we're right."

)) Detention Cell 11A – Battlestar Galactica ((

Lt Reese slumped wearily in his chair, against his restraints. His nerves still twitched from the electrical fire that had so recently been applied. His nano-meds were fantastic at healing his tissues and nervous system, but when the power was surged through his body, they helped distribute the energy and the agony was exquisite. Reese was amazed they were still intact but they were based on Asgard and Tollan tech and he guessed it would take more than a little energy surge to put these machines out of action.

The door to his cell swung open once more and he suppressed a groan. Apollo had only been gone for about thirty minutes, he couldn't back wanting more already.

Billy Keikeya saw the shattered man before him and felt nothing but disgust at what had become of him and his people. So blinded by their fears that they would lash out and torture a man just because he didn't fit in with the preconceived notions of the Universe.

"Can you hear me, Lt Reese?" He asked softly, ignoring the dark stares of the two Colonial Warriors standing guard behind the prisoner.

"I hear you." Reese replied heavily.

Hesitantly, Billy knelt down in front of the drooping man. "I need to ask you something very important."

On hearing those words, Reese found a upswelling of anger, surge through his system. "And if I refuse to answer!"

Billy swallowed nervously. Whatever Apollo had done to the man over the past few hours had clearly driven him to the edge. "I'm sorry for what's happened but there is something I need to know, something that might make all of this stop."

Reese gritted his teeth together. "I don't know the location of the nearest Cylon base ship, you stupid bastards!"

"No…" Billy tried again. "…not that. I need to know where you're from!"

Reese stared uncomprehendingly at the Presidential aide. The confusion was hardly hidden by the utter exhaustion on the prisoner's face.

"I know you come from an Alliance of worlds but…you're human…like us. What's the name of your world?" Billy pleaded desperately. The two guards behind Lt Reese looked at each other, equally confused.

Reese grunted suddenly with dark humor. It made a change from demands for Cylon capabilities and fleet movements. "What is it to you, the world I come from, Colonial?" He asked hoarsely.

Billy bit his lip. "Everything."

Tired of playing with this stranger, Reese shook his head. "What the hell…I come from Earth, Colonial. Satisfied?"

The blood drained from Billy's already ashen face. "Th..thank you." He stammered. Looking up, he met the suddenly nervous gazes of the two guards. Though Billy knew that Adama's quest for Earth and the Thirteenth Tribe was a chimera, the fact that it had a basis in reality was not lost upon those in the know and the possibility had always existed that they might actually find it.

And now…to realise that they had actually encountered a representative of that forlorn hope…and tortured him!

Billy stared back down at the abused Lt Reese. They had to fix this, but for the life of him, he didn't know how.

Kobol help them all.


	3. Chapter 4

_Hi all,_

_Just a few things before we begin. Thanks again for all the great reviews we've been having. Jon and I are very appreciative of it._

_Our apologies for taking so long with this latest update. This is mainly my fault (Andrew) and, while you're waiting for your latest WHL fix, I highly suggest you go read Jon's offering, Homeward Bound: a BSG/Space – Above & Beyond crossover. It rocks._

_Now, the new series doesn't give us much insight into the overall command structure of the Cylon race. We have the multiple advanced-model types like Number Six, Doral and Valerii, etc., we have the Centurions, we have the transferring of consciousness and that's about it._

_We've tried to create a convincing 'ecology' to the Cylon race and I hope this makes things more interesting for you all._

_At the base of it, we have the standard Centurion. Limitless worker/warriors. Limited personality but still maintaining full independence._

_The advanced model Cylon (i.e. Doral) is an avatar for a high-level Cylon consciousness. Late in season one, we see a large number of one model (NAKED!) on one ship. I postulate that having numerous 'physicals' onboard a Basestar is uncommon. This was done out of necessity, hence the nakedness. What you have is one or two commanding avatars, with the vast majority of high-level consciousnesses residing aboard the Basestars as Ship-Minds._

_When an avatar is needed for any particular reason (I'm sure you could all think of convincing reasons.) a Ship-Mind is volunteered and is simply downloaded into an avatar._

_So that's it. Centurions. Avatars. Ship-Minds._

_Getting pretty deep, huh?_

**Chapter 4**

**Revelations**

**)) Day T–minus 103 ((**

**)) 12th April, 2031 A.D ((**

**)) Deep Space - Rendezvous Point Alpha ((**

Admiral of the Fleet J'Thuk glanced at the chrono on the wall of his Flag quarters aboard the carrier and frowned. The _Enterprise_ and her battlegroup had arrived less than an hour ago and there had been no sign of the replacement ships he had ordered. Content to wait at least a little while, J'Thuk had allowed Vice Admiral Windrunner release his engineers perform more comprehensive repairs of certain systems that had been damaged in the battle the previous day. The systems had received only quick and dirty repairs, in order to facilitate a quick hyperspace jump to the rendezvous point.

The Sintesian Admiral took the downtime to once more, read over the information O'Neill had provided. J'Thuk wondered how he should approach these people, who by all accounts, were xenophobic towards even unknown members of their own species. How in blazes would they handle a seven-foot, 380 pound bear-like Sintesian?

He needed another viewpoint on this. Looking down at his desk, he pushed the communications button, opening a channel to the communications 'switchboard' of the massive carrier.

"Comms." The communications tech on duty replied.

"This is Admiral J'Thuk. Can you locate Lt Cmdr Enofas and have him report to my cabin as soon as possible?"

"Aye, Admiral." The tech replied.

"Thank you." J'Thuk closed the channel and returned to his report. He only had to wait a little while before a firm knock on his door brought his head up. "Yes?"

A Fleet Marine, one of several that guarded the Admiral's quarters, spoke over the com. "Lt Cmdr Enofas is here as requested."

"Send him in." J'Thuk replied instantly. He heaved himself out of his reinforced chair and stepped out from behind his desk to greet the Lt Commander as he stepped into the Admiral's quarters.

"Lt Cmdr Enofas, reporting as ordered." The Adenan officer seemed a little nervous but was otherwise composed. Basically human, he was of average height but in very good shape. Well turned out, he appeared the epitome of a naval officer.

J'Thuk's snout pulled back into a grin. "Relax, commander, I simply asked you here for some advice.

Enofas looked confused at that as he followed the Admiral's orders and sank into a nearby chair. Even sat down, though, he remained distinctly at attention. "Sir?"

J'Thuk frowned. "Son, before your people joined the Alliance, they were, to put it bluntly, xenophobic as hell. You almost killed the SG team that visited you world and they were just as human as you."

Enofas turned a light shade of pink. "I like to think my people have grown some now, sir."

"Oh, they have indeed!" J'Thuk replied heartily. "A simply amazing display of character, your race has shown, and that is precisely what I wish to discuss."

He took a moment to marshal his thoughts before he began in earnest. "You've had the briefing by now, your aware of the xenophobic nature of these newcomers?"

Enofas nodded slowly. "I will admit to have been thinking about the similarities. I guessed as much that this was why you had called."

J'Thuk nodded, expecting no less. Being xenophobic doesn't make you generally stupid. "The First Contact has gone bad, to put it bluntly. We're dealing with a different kind of fear here. Disregarding the initial exchange of fire, they were fine with the Alliance team until the extent of the Alliance's use of nano-meds and bio-tech replacements became known. Then they became…" J'Thuk trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence without insulting the Lt Cmdr's people.

"Savage, reactionary…murderous even?" Enofas replied with a sad smile.

J'Thuk nodded silently and Enofas shrugged. "It may be a different kind of xenophobia, but its still exactly what my people suffered from, Admiral. If you asked me here for a quick fix, I'll tell what the Diplomatic Corp team will tell you. There is none. The only way around this sort of embedded nature is, essentially, abrasion."

"Abrasion?" J'Thuk replied, unsure his command of English was up to the task of translating that word correctly.

Enofas nodded. "Constant exposure over a long period of time will eventually wear away whatever rough edges they may have. To be completely successful, we are talking generations here." Enofas turned slightly shamefaced once more. "You said my people had changed. You were wrong, sir. They haven't. Not really. All they have done is accept a certain degree of reality, that, in order to survive the Goa'uld, they would have to join the Alliance. Right now, there are less than two thousand Adenan officers in the Alliance Navy and when I say IN, I mean, onboard mixed race vessels like this one. The other fifty thousand the politicians like to tout as a symbol of integration are purely onboard fully Adenan crewed vessels."

"Which are mainly assigned to guard the sector in which Adena is situated." J'Thuk finished, feeling more than a little embarrassed. As Admiral of the Fleet, he was kept abreast of fleet population, deployments and such and he did remember reading something about this before but the demographic significance of it must have flown by him in hyperspace.

"What's different about those two thousand Adenan?" J'Thuk asked curiously.

Enofas smiled wryly. "Quicker and more constant exposure than the rest of Adena, Admiral. My father is a freighter captain. I was raised in space and after we had joined the Alliance, I spent three years seeing more worlds and people than most of Adena will ever see. I'm not alone in that. Freighter brats, embassy staff, military liaisons and just plain old adventurers, all of us got over our initial upbringings enough to give us a head start in the Alliance. Even xenophobia is no match for wanderlust, sir."

J'Thuk smiled.

Enofas shrugged sadly. "I don't have anything else to give you, sir, except to keep our people's exposure at a minimum, at least in the initial stages. Keep your guard up and don't expect anything rational. Hope for it, plan for it, but don't expect it."

The Sintesian admiral was silent for minutes afterward. "Thank you, Commander. You've been a great help. Just one more thing."

"Yes, sir?"

J'Thuk looked grim. "Lt Reese."

Lt Commander Enofas, officer of the Alliance Navy, clenched his fist by his side. "Sir, prepare for the worst. If they are anything like my people were…"

Admiral of the Fleet J'Thuk nodded. "Acknowledged."

He took a deep breath. "Thank you, commander. Dismissed."

Enofas nodded in reply and left the Admiral alone.

J'Thuk began to work on response plans when the com panel on his desk buzzed.

"Yes?"

"Admiral, this is Windrunner. Our reinforcements just showed up."

J'Thuk sighed. "Understood. Finish up your repairs, Tom, then get us underway."

"Aye, sir"

Twenty minutes later, the last repair drones were brought back aboard their ships, circuits and crystals were run through their finals checks and courses were set.

Like an intricate ballet, the ships of the Enterprise battlegroup spread out and one by one, with a twisting of space-time, jumped into hyperspace, on their way to rescue a single lost soldier.

**)) Cylon Basestar 19-C, 53 light years from the location of the Galactica ((**

Doral stood on the control deck of Basestar 19-C, the command vessel for the Cylon fleet, and suppressed a sigh. The other late model Cylon's had declined to join him on this attack, leaving him alone with all the Centurions, and of course, the Ship-Minds. Now, the Centurion model was a great machine to have next to you in a fight, but they lacked…conversational skills. The Ship-Minds were just as bad in their own way. Talkative amongst themselves but cold and aloof to the 'physicals'.

This meant that the advanced-model Cylon with brown hair, brown eyes and a wry grin had to find ways to keep himself from going mad as the mirror-silver Centurions went about their business with machine efficiency.

Doral placed his datapad down with a grunt as he concluded his eleven hundredth game of tic-tac-toe with a draw. HE was considering a game of chess when a gold Centurion approached him.

"We have received a signal from Number Six." It reported emotionlessly.

Doral raised an eyebrow as the Centurion remained silent. "And…" he pressed exasperatedly.

"Number Six has ordered the attack." It replied.

Doral gave a slight smile. "About time." He turned to the viewport and looked out. Five other Basestars could be seen following them. "Ready all Raiders and make the jump to hyperlight."

The six Basestars rotated gracefully in space and with little warning, space twisted and bent as, one by one, they disappeared in a flash of light.

**)) Conference Room – Battlestar Galactica, orbit of PX412-551B ((**

"Are you telling me we been interrogating someone from the very planet we've been searching for the past three years!" Adama's asked incredulously.

Billy nodded despairingly. Around the table sat President Roslin, Commander Adama, Colonel Tigh, Major Apollo, Major Starbuck, Baltar and the twelve representatives of the Colonies that made up the President's Advisory Council.

Councillor Haman, of Pacifica, glared at Billy with disgust. "We only have the prisoner's word of his origin. I'm even the Cylon's know about our 'quest' by now. What makes you think he's not simply pushing our buttons?"

President Roslin sighed. "Haman, the prisoner is human. The med-techs are unanimous about that."

Haman snorted as another Councillor, Domas of Procyon, chuckled darkly. "And what about Dr Baltar's Cylon-detector?"

Everyone turned to look at the edgy Doctor.

"It's…err…inconclusive." Baltar stammered.

"I thought it was a simple red or green?" Starbuck replied wryly.

Wincing, Baltar frowned. "The microscopic machines in his blood are skewing the results. My test depends on 12 distinct factors that appear or don't appear in the Cylon body. Our Lt Reese registers both."

Colonel Tigh shook his head. "Despite the unknowns of the situation, we have to consider the possibility he's telling the truth from a military standpoint."

Roslin looked over at the gruff Colonel. "Which is?"

Adama looked distinctly uncomfortable. "That we may just have aggravated a hostile power as powerful as the Cylons."

The room fell deathly silent.

"What are our options?" Roslin asked quietly.

"We apologise?" Starbuck commented bitterly. She had known something was different about the prisoner and his people, having met them face-to-face and actually talked with them. She had known their 'differences' and she had chosen to remain silent, allowing her feelings and those of everyone else, to blind herself to the truth.

Apollo sat beside her, his entire manner subdued and full of shame. He had spent hours torturing the prisoner, confident that he was right to do so, that he was protecting the Remnant from yet another threat. Now, to be told he might have been torturing an innocent!

Kobol, how he hoped that Reese was actually a Cylon…

Baltar was also quiet, for very different reasons. Number Six, though completely invisible to everyone else, was steadily walking round the room, studying those in the room like insects. It was quite unnerving and something he had never gotten used to.

"What about the Stargate?" Baltar suggested weakly. "It uses symbols from the Book of Kobol. Look, we have a prisoner who claims to be from Earth. The prisoner arrived here using an unknown technology that is covered with symbols used in the Book of Kobol. The Naguchi series, prominent in a chapter dealing with the Thirteenth Tribe, is more than coincidence. To suggest anything else is sheer, wilful ignorance."

Billy made a sound of agreement. "We need to make contact with the other side of the Stargate. We need to know for sure."

Adama nodded. "We're mired in too much speculation at the moment, though I agree with Baltar. Despite any fears regarding our guest's use of technology, the signs of his connection to Earth are far too obvious to disregard."

Everyone, however reluctantly, accepted the Commander's words. The more observant among them also noticed Adama's use of the word 'guest' rather than prisoner. It was a telling distinction.

President Roslin cleared her throat, demanding everyone's attention. "Very well. Baltar, assemble a contact team. If the other side reopens the Stargate, begin transmission of a request to talk on any and all frequencies. And any other method of communication you can think of. Consult Lt Reese. He may be willing to help us, despite…"

Alarm klaxons began to roar throughout the Galactica.

"CIC TO ADAMA!"

Adama fairly leapt up from his chair and pulled the nearest phone off the wall mount. "Adama, go."

Captain Gaeta, who was manning the watch in CIC, sounded worried. "Commander, we've just monitored a series of strange energy events close to the fleet. The analysis section maintains a high probability of the energy events being an unfamiliar hyperlight system. Dradis now confirms the presence of eighteen vessels of unknown configuration, bearing 219 karem 010, distance 3 light-minutes and…holding position." Geata's voice betrayed his obvious surprise that these unknowns weren't screaming in guns blazing. Everyone else usually does.

Adama nodded dispassionately even though inside he was screaming at the Gods. _Eighteen ships!_ "Go to Alert 1 status. Bring everyone up from the surface immediately. Launch the ready Vipers and bring the wing to full alert. I'm on my way."

Puting the phone down, he turned back to the others, his face a mask of detachment. Tigh was standing nearby while Apollo and Starbuck were stood by the door, ready to bolt for the hangers.

"Cylons?" Tigh asked tightly.

Adama shook his head. "Unknown at this time. I doubt it though." He looked over at Apollo and Starbuck. "Get into space. Put up a full CSP, but hold your people back for close in defence. I want to avoid a fight if we can."

Apollo nodded sharply and hurried out of the room, Starbuck close on his heels.

As they ran down the corridors of the Galactica, Starbuck's mind was awash with thoughts of the events currently unfolding. Things were getting out of hand. "Apollo, there's a good chance this Alliance isn't…"

"I know." Apollo replied grimly, cutting her off. In less than a minute, they arrived in the starboard hanger and headed towards the lockers. It was a mass of barely-controlled chaos as the deck crews ran back and forth, arming Vipers and performing last minute repairs. Master Chief Tyrol, bent over an exposed engine of a nearby Viper, saw them, passed the tool he was holding to another engineer and hurried over.

"Both your Viper's are prepped. The ready birds are launching now." He reported breathlessly. "I ordered a hot scramble, everyone is launching as they go green and are forming up outside."

The sudden roar from several launch tubes underscored his statement as the catapults flung the one-man fighters out into space.

"Good call, Master Chief. We don't have time to dick around with a formation launch. How many are good?" Starbuck replied as she and Apollo grabbed their helmets from their lockers and headed for their craft.

"Eleven." Tyrol replied grimly. "Vipers 3, 9 and 17 are still down-rated. Nothing short of a miracle or a Class-2 Fleet Collier will get those birds off the deck. Sorry, sirs."

Apollo shook his head and placed a reassuring hand on the beleaguered Master Chief's shoulder. "Nothing to be sorry for, Master Chief. See you when we get back."

"Luck!" Tyrol called out after them. Turning round he spotted two techs each driving a munitions truck nearly collide with each other. Stifling a curse, he flipped his headset to transmit and began to spit out orders, trying to bring the chaos under some sort of control.

Starbuck and Apollo jumped into their cockpits and ran through an abbreviated check-list as their Vipers were spotted for launch.

From inside her cockpit, Starbuck wished she could call up the datafeed from Galactica's sensors but ever since the destruction of the Colonies and the revelation of the Cylon Raider's ability to penetrate their secure networks, the datafeed equipment had long since been removed.

She would have to wait until she launched to find out what she faced.

Slammed back into her cockpit, her Viper was fired along the electromagnetic catapult and flung out into space.

**)) ANS _Enterprise_ Battlegroup – System PX412-551B ((**

Vice Admiral Tomas Windrunner studied the tactical display intently. "Are you sure about these readings?"

Major Nakamura, Fleet Intelligence, nodded firmly. "The big one is definitely a warship. From the look of those hangers, it's a battleship/carrier combo. The rest of those ships appear to be civilian or fleet auxiliaries. Relatively low power emissions, minimal weaponry. None, including the Mothership, appear to have shields."

"Unless they simply haven't raised them yet." Commander Peng, the Battlegroup Tactical Action Officer, interjected.

The Major simply smiled, her fine boned features, pale skin and dark hair contrasting to give her a china-doll look. "All known vessels capable of shield generation maintain at least minimal shielding, if only for navigational purposes. Micrometeorites are hard on starship hulls."

Windrunner looked up at Admiral J'Thuk. "What are your intentions, sir? I have them outnumbered, outgunned and, if the Major is right, outclassed."

J'Thuk looked at the display and the paltry eleven fighters that were an obvious combat space patrol. A small fleet of shuttles appeared to be leaving the planet, heading for various ships amongst the fleet. "Hold your launch. They don't appear to be too much of a threat." J'Thuk raised a meaty paw and pointed towards the big blip that represented the unknown's Mothership. "Lt Reese's beacon is coming from that ship?"

Nakamura nodded. "Faint but steady. Bio-telemetry, howver, indicates injury, stress and fatigue. Nothing life threatening but…" Nobody dared use the word _torture_ yet.

J'Thuk nodded. "Any response to our hails?"

Lt Gamelan, a petite but fiery redheaded communication tech, shook her head. "I'm still cycling through the subspace and radio frequencies. Nothing so far. Usually I'd try and match whatever signals they'd be emitting but they appear to be running under EMCON."

J'Thuk growled in frustration. "How do you talk to people who don't want to listen?"

"We make them talk, Admiral." Commander Peng replied forcefully. "Full court press. We send four squadrons of fighters and our cruisers and disable those ships while they're still in the gravity well of the planet."

Windrunner frowned. "As much as I'd like to support that idea, Peng, Command wants us to tread softly with these people until we've ascertained the threat level."

Commander Peng shrugged. "Then it's their move."

**)) Combat Information Centre, Battlestar Galactica ((**

Adama stood in the Combat Information Centre and reflected how cramped it suddenly seemed with President Roslin, Billy, Baltar and two of Council members stood in the wings.

"They're obviously trying to talk with us, Madame President. I don't think we can stall much longer without appearing to be completely ignoring them." Billy commented softly.

Adama overheard the remark anyway. "Billy's right, ma'am. The surface crews are now back amongst the fleet. There's nothing holding us back from going hyperlight if things go bad. They don't appear to be Cylon Basestars. Talk to them."

Roslin nodded wearily. "Open a channel."

Adama looked to a communications tech who nodded and the speaker gave an audible click of an open circuit.

"Unknown vessels, this is President Roslin of the Colonial Remnant. Please identify yourselves and state your intentions."

Silence reigned for nearly a minute before a deep voice with a strange growl to it, like breaking gravel, rumbled from the speakers. "This is Admiral J'Thuk of the Alliance Navy. I command the carrier battlegroup before you. You have attacked and captured Alliance personnel, President Roslin."

Roslin took a deep breath and tried to defend a basically indefensible position. "We were…merely defending ourselves, Admiral. We believed your people to be our enemies."

"And now?"

Roslin bowed her head for several precious seconds. The weight of all the horror of all the destruction, the terror of the long retreat and the fear of what they had become pressed down upon her like the weight of the very Universe itself. When she raised her head, tears glistened in her eyes.

"Now we would like to talk."

All around the CIC, the Colonials looked at one another, their faces expressing a shared shame at the situation.

Inside his Viper, Apollo bit his lip so hard it bled. Starbuck forced herself to swallow several times past the increasing tightness in her throat.

Admiral J'Thuk replied with a noticeable tone of relief. "Very well. Would you like to meet in person? The planet would make a neutral meet…"

"DRADIS CONTACTS! IT'S THE CYLONS!" Chief Petty Officer Dualla called out harshly. "Six Basestars bearing 040 karem 023, distance, a little over 1 light minute!"

Adama swung from Roslin to face the dradis display. Six burning red signatures, 20 million kilometres away appeared placing the Galactica between them and the Alliance battlegroup.

"Ready all ships for hyperlight!" Adama ordered hotly.

Colonel Tigh was stabbing buttons on his console. "Recall all Vipers and ready all gun crews. We're gonna be taking missiles any minute."

**)) Combat Information Centre, ANS _Enterprise_ ((**

The communication channel was still open and everyone in the Flag CIC heard the chaos aboard the other ship.

"These people are scared shitless of these Cylons." Commander Peng commented _sotto voce_ as he ordered the sensor section to focus on the new arrivals.

Seconds later a fairly detailed breakdown appeared, rotating serenely in the holo-display.

Major Nakamura shook her head in surprise. "Big bastards. Pure carrier types from the looks of things. No shields either. Getting weird bio-readings though. Doesn't read like life signs though." He shrugged helplessly. I don't know what it reads like."

Vice Admiral Windrunner whistled as a veritable swarm of fighters erupted from the seven Motherships. According to the computers initial tally, nearly six hundred fighters from amongst the seven vessels were heading straight for the Remnant, completely ignoring the _Enterprise_ Battlegroup. "Launch our fighters." He ordered.

An almost subsonic thrum, more felt than heard, rumbled in the background as Sabre's scrambled from the decks of the _Enterprise_.

As the Sabres formed up outside the Enterprise, on the opposite side of the Galactica, the leading Cylon fighters suddenly launched an impressive volley of missiles at the ships of the Colonial Remnant. Hazy trails traced long arcs across the distance to the ragtag group of vessels.

A new voice called out over the open channel. "Admiral J'Thuk, this is Commander Adama, of the Battlestar Galactica. These are the Cylon's we mentioned before. They're merciless machines that destroyed our home colonies, killing over forty billion people in less than a day. They're killers pure and simple, Admiral. If you're running any between ship networks, I suggest you shut them down. They can interrupt and control computer networks with ease. Our only defense is to run so we're leaving this system now. Apollo will give you co-ordinates. Good luck. Adama out."

He had barely finished speaking before the ships of the Remnant began to blink and vanish without a trace. None of the Cylon missiles arrived in time to hit anything.

Admiral J'Thuk nodded thoughtfully. The Cylon fighters were continuing towards the Alliance battlegroup but they had a little time yet. "Comments."

"They can jump inside a gravity well." Windrunner replied immediately.

"Who the hell is Apollo?" Peng blurted out in annoyance. These strangers were unpredictable as hell.

"Perhaps he is on one of the two fighters they seem to have left behind." J'Thuk added calmly.

The resultant explosion of interest in the tactical display made the Sintesian Admiral smile.

True to the Admiral's word, two Colonial fighters were burning hard across space, towards the Alliance battlegroup with six hundred Cylon fighters in tow.

"Do we defend them?" Peng asked. "Despite the situation between us and this Remnant, these Cylons did launch about a thousand missiles at what were essentially civilian ships. Hardly the act of a civilized race."

"Are we receiving any communications from the Cylon ships?" Windrunner asked curiously. "Six hundred attack fighters heading in our direction aren't exactly sending a message of friendship and goodwill."

Everyone now looked towards Major Nakamura who was conferring intently with Lt Gamelan and two of her subordinates. They were manipulating their computer consoles with distinct urgency.

"Problems, Major?" Windrunner asked with an edge in his voice.

Major Nakamura nodded without taking her eyes from the screens in front of her. "Lt Gamelan just started to receive a signal from the Cylon ships. We thought it was a communication but it appears to be a viral attack instead!"

Taken aback, Windrunner moved over to stand behind the Major. "This must be the Colonial commander was referring to." The operator's screens were a mass of code and dense hierarchy trees that made little sense to the Admiral and he shook his head. "What are they trying to do?"

"Shut down our systems." The Major replied bluntly. "It's a fairly impressive worm actually. Self-adapting, replicating and very tenacious. Luckily for us, our standard artificial intelligence matrices appear to be able to handle themselves. Firewalls are holding and the worm's rate of replication is already being degraded."

"So this is an attack, right? The Goa'uld never tried anything like this." Windrunner added tensely. This was way out of his league.

Major Nakamura nodded formally. "Yes, sir. The _Enterprise_ battlegroup is currently under a sophisticated electronic systems attack. Our defenses are, however, currently stable and everything is operating at 100. Our fighters, though not currently under attack, are being sent anti-viral updates and should also remain secure."

"These Cylons appear to be everything the Colonials said they were." Peng snarled. "If what these Colonials say about their home world's is also true…."

Vice Admiral Windrunner looked at Admiral J'Thuk, who simply nodded once.

"Okay, push out the CSP to ten light seconds." Windrunner ordered briskly. "All even numbered squadrons are to close with the Cylon fighters. Odd numbers provide cover for the battlegroup. Have CruDesRon 3 and 4 prepare for a short-range precision jump. I want them hit those Cylon Motherships hard once the Sabres start mixing it up with the Cylon fighters."

"I have a channel to the two fighters." A com-tech announced as everyone went to his or her stations.

Windrunner nodded. "Put me through."

* * *

Apollo grunted as the Colonel Tigh ordered the recall. "All Vipers, you heard the Colonel. Return to base."

In two's and three's, the Vipers began to peel away, to make a hot landing in the bay of the Galactica. Starbuck was about to make her turn when she noticed Apollo still flying level."

"Lee?" She called out over a private wireless channel.

"Yeah, Starbuck?" He replied after a moment.

"Time to get back, Lee." She reminded him gently.

There was a noticeable hesitation. "I'm not going back."

"What?" Starbuck she exclaimed. "Where are you going?"

"To the newcomers." He replied firmly. "We got them into this mess. They deserve an explanation."

A new voice intruded on their conversation. "Majors, aren't you supposed to be heading back in?" Adama asked conversationally.

"Sorry, Commander," Apollo replied firmly. "I'm heading over to the Alliance Battlegroup. They've never encountered the Cylons so they're gonna need all the help they can get."

"Two fighters aren't going to be much good to them." Adama replied softly. In the background, the hyperlight clock could be heard counting down. "You know where the back up rendezvous is. Watch yourselves. Adama, out.

Starbuck reefed her Viper into a tight turn and brought herself alongside Apollo's fighter. "Well I suppose I'm coming with you then."

Apollo looked out over the distance between them and smiled. "Glad to have you along."

Behind them, the Colonial ships began to blink out, jumping to hyperlight one after the other. Cylon missiles streaked through the empty space where ships once flew and as the Galactica finally jumped, Apollo blew out a tension-filled breath of air.

"You know we've still got six hundred Cylon fighters chasing us. Not to mention the six Basestars following on." Starbuck commented conversationally. Both fighters were heading for the Alliance battlegroup at full burn but the Cylon Raider had a speed advantage and they were losing ground.

"I know, but I'm hoping the nice folks over there will come help us out." He replied.

Her dradis console began beeping and Starbuck smiled. "The Gods must love you, Apollo, 'cause I'm picking up fighters launching from the Alliance ships."

Apollo looked down at his scanner and nodded. "A lot too." His wireless began beeping for his attention so he flicked a switch and opened a channel.

"…nant fighters, this is the Alliance carrier _Enterprise_, please respond." A young, female voice called out.

Glancing at Starbuck, he saw her shrug helplessly in the tight confines of her cockpit. _What the hell, why not. _"Enterprise, this Major Apollo. Good to hear your voice. We'd like to offer our services against the six hundred Cylons bearing down on you."

"That's very kind of you." A different voice replied. Older, full of command authority. "My fighters are en-route to intercept. You'll have reinforcements in less than a minute. I'm handing you off to my Flight Ops officer, follow her instructions to the letter, understood?"

"Yes, sir!" Apollo replied. He felt like he was listening to his father.

"Major Apollo?" A new voice asked firmly. "I'm Captain Gutierrez. Your current bearing is fine but I need you angle at least ten degrees down, to clear my field of fire."

"Understood, Captain." Apollo replied. "Starbuck, you heard the lady, ten degrees down."

The two Vipers gracefully lowered their noses and began to fly towards a point underneath the Alliance battlegroup. The attacking Sabre squadrons, 73 fighters in all, found the two 'friendlies' moving down, creating a clear shot at the oncoming Cylons.

* * *

Lt Commander Sandesh 'Tiger' Patel, squadron leader of the 83rd 'Diamondbacks', frowned as his Sabre's computer scanned and analysed the incoming Cylon fighters. They were picking up a weird bio-signature but not your standard lifesign. No shields. Two railguns. Fairly thick armour. 25 seconds to AFM range.

A beeping alerted him to the computer's sudden distress at finding itself infected with a worm. His display's flickered momentarily but just as quickly firmed back up again. _VIRAL AGENT ISOLATED AND DESTROYED. SYSTEMS 100 OPERATIONAL_ scrolled across his field of view.

"Good work, Suzie." Tiger murmured, referring to his Sabre by his pet name.

His computer suddenly began screaming another alert as his sensors picked up a target lock on his Sabre and with barely a pause, a literal swarm of missiles erupted from the leading Cylon fighters. _TIME TO IMPACT: 6.37seconds_ flashed against his field of view, his heads up display providing him with a wealth of information, including the optimum path for successful evasion of the missiles coming towards him.

"GO EVASIVE!" Tiger screamed into the com. "SUZIE, LAUNCH COUNTERMEASURES! ENTERPRISE, WE ARE TAKING FIRE! ALL UNITS FIRE AT WILL!"

Like startled quail, the flights of Sabres fanned out in all directions. Decoys, flares and chaff were ejected in all directions. Counter-jamming pulses filled the ether and the Sabres disappeared into a cloud of haze and static.

The fighters behind Tiger were fortunate enough to have been covered by the jamming and decoys of the lead fighters. Unfortunately, like the other 9 fighters of the lead formation, Tiger found his Sabre still being tracked by two missiles.

Yanking his stick around, he swung his fighter all around the sky but the missiles refused to break lock. Almost simultaneously, both missiles ploughed into his upper aft shields. His Sabre rocked hard and he was thrown against the straps of his seat but as he regained control, he found his Sabre still essentially in one piece. The missiles weren't flechette but direct, high explosive. His shields had dropped by nearly fifteen percent but other than that he was fine.

Looking around to regain his bearings, he saw two Sabres ripple off four AFM's that streaked into a flight of six Cylon fighters. Two AFM's exploded a Cylon each, a third ripped off the wing from another, sending it into an uncontrolled tumble into the depths of space.

"You still with me, Buns?" He called out to his wingman.

Lt Karen 'Buns' Treadwell snorted into her com. "You pretty good for an old guy, sir, but not that good. Target's on your 11'o'clock high." She replied, have kept track of the enemy while her leader went through his evasive manoeuvres.

Tiger was already bringing the nose of his Sabre up a he reefed into a tight turn that brought him back to face the swarming Cylon fighters. "Tally ho!" A tracking cue slid across his vision and locked onto the nearest Cylon fighter. "Got tone! Fox 3!" He exclaimed, squeezing the trigger on his stick.

An AFM leapt of the rails and flew straight and steady towards the Cylon fighter. A microsecond before it hit, the warhead exploded, sending a hundred trinium flechettes into its path which ripped into the Cylon fighter, igniting its fuel and ammo and exploding it into a million little pieces.

"Nice shot, sir." Buns replied wryly. "Even if I did give you the set-up."

"This is a turkey shoot, Buns." He commented as he watched a flight of two Sabres get bumped by eight Cylons, their rail guns spitting fire that simply bounced off the shielded Alliance fighters. The fighters turned around in an impressive 20g turn and promptly blew away three of their attackers.

"Yes, sir." She replied.

* * *

"Holy frack, Apollo!" Starbuck called out in amazement as she blew away a Raider with a really nice long-range shot. "Are you seeing this?"

Apollo could only nod dumbly as the Alliance fighters outperformed the Cylon Raiders with ease and, on the occasions a Raider did get a shot off at them, had little to no effect because of the strange energy field surrounding their craft. The Alliance fighters were initially outnumbered by over 6 to 1 but they had already whittled that number down to 4 to 1 in the first ten minutes of the fight.

He scanned the sky, look for targets but he barely had a chance to select one before a streaking Alliance fighter destroyed it. They were carving a path through the Cylon formation like a hot knife through butter.

"I don't think these guys need our help all that much after all." He finally replied, feeling more than a little left out.

Capt. Gutierrez's voice intruded on his conversation. "You appear to be quite right, sir. We were a little worried by your commander's warnings about their computer attacks but we seem to be holding them off quite effectively."

"That's….good to know, Captain." Apollo replied shakily. His mind flashed back to the initial fighter above the Colonies when his squadron mates were helplessly butchered because their systems had been taken down. It was a relief to know he wouldn't be watching a similar massacre today, though it was a bittersweet relief. He wished they had that kind of technology then and perhaps the Twelve Colonies might still be alive.

"Your fighters appear to be just as fragile as the Cylons, sir, perhaps it's best if you retired to the _Enterprise_. I'm sending you an escort. Just follow them in, sir."

Apollo grimaced but had to agree. The last thing he wanted was to be taken out needlessly by a frustrated Cylon Raider.

"Understood, Captain." He replied. "Starbuck, you follow that?"

Flying beside him, Starbuck consciously unclenched her tightened fingers from around the control column. "Yeah, Lee."

Two Alliance fighters swooped down to either side of their flight. The streamlined but surprisingly wide-bodied fighters looked strange next to the narrow profiles of the Viper.

"Colonial flight, this is Jackrabbit 5 and 6. We're you escort back to the Big E." A smooth voice replied over the wireless.

Apollo and Starbuck matched their manoeuvres as the two fighters herded them towards the slab-sided carrier in the distance.

"Thanks, Jackrabbit. Your fighters are pretty impressive. The Cylons are…What the!" Apollo's comments were cut off as the _Enterprise_ battlegroup that had been steadily growing in size was now lit by space warping and twisting as a large portion of the carrier's escorts disappeared in whatever they used for hyperlight. "Where are they going?"

"To take on those big Cylon ships I imagine." Jackrabbit 5 replied calmly.

**)) Command Deck, Cylon Basestar 19-C ((**

Doral frowned darkly as the alien fighters essentially slaughtered the initial attack wave of Raiders. Three hundred had died within ten minutes of contact for absolutely no casualties on their side. Analysis suggested that a least a dozen fighters had pulled back temporarily after having received numerous direct hits from missiles. This in turn suggested that their strange energy shields had its limits. Unfortunately, the shields made them effectively equal to fifteen, even twenty Raiders.

"All Raiders have been launched." The Gold Centurion announced calmly.

Doral felt like hitting it. "An additional 1200 Raiders should be enough to saturate these newcomers defenses." He replied hopefully.

The Centurion remained silent.

"Prepare to advance on the enemy vessels." He ordered sharply, reining in his frustration.

"By the command." The Gold Centurion replied. It turned around to order the manoeuvre when alarms began to ring through the command deck.

"What's going on?" Doral demanded.

A display screen flickered, replacing its previous view of the fighter battle with a new view, showing the area around the six Basestars. "Doral, a number of alien vessels have jumped to within 500 kilometres of us." The Ship-Mind of Basestar 19-C announced somewhat nervously.

Doral's eyes widened at the sight of space seeming tearing apart to reveal a dozen gleaming warships bearing down on them. Even as he watched, they seemed to flicker with white light and numerous bolts of energy swept across the distance towards the Basestars. If the aliens offensive weaponry was as powerful as their defensive technology…

The Ship-Minds seemed to have the same thought and conferred at superhuman speeds.

The Basestar 43-D, the ship nearest to the alien ships, angled itself across the path of the oncoming bolts, as a shield for its five kin vessels.

Alliance ion technology met Cylon materials science and, unfortunately for the machine race, the best that Cylon armour had to offer was of little use. Their 'superstrong' alloys didn't melt or tear apart under the onslaught; they simply vaporized. A handful of bolts slashed into on of the arms of the Basestar and the two kilometres of vessel simply broke off. Another dozen bolts slammed into the core of the ship and carved their way into the depths of the vessel.

For all its size, the Cylon Basestar was essentially empty space and massed little more than the Galactica. With its hull compromised in dozens of places, it began to tear itself apart. The process had barely begun though, before an ion bolt slammed into its exposed reactor. The resultant boil of light erupted into an eye-watering explosion.

Alarmed, the other Ship-Minds volleys off hundreds of ship-killer nuclear missiles. Numerous trails erupted from the tips of the Cylon vessels and, arcing around the wreckage of their destroyed brethren, tracked in on the approaching alien ships.

In a standard saturation strike, the nuclear missiles spread across the entire formation of ships and as one, exploded.

Space for a hundred kilometres seemed to burn with the fury of a sun as nuclear fire raged across the alien vessels.

Satisfied that they had removed the alien ships and avenged the destruction of a Basestar, the Ship-Minds, including the transferred consciousness of the Ship-Minds from the destroyed vessel, began to turn their attention towards the ongoing dogfight.

Their satisfaction was short-lived, however, as a bow-wave of plasma emerged from the dying nuclear fire and, from the bow-wave, emerged the essentially untouched alien vessels. Energy shields glimmered around their vessels, obviously having protected them from the fires that equalled a sun in intensity.

Doran recoiled from this distinctly unpleasant sight and began to issue orders to the Ship-Minds. "Full retreat! We must leave before we are destroyed!"

"Agreed." The Ship-Mind of the 19-C replied with feeling.

Doran staggered as the Basestar rocked under the impacts of the alien ships weapons.

"Hull breach in multiple sectors. Damage control units en-route. Hyperlight jump in eleven seconds." The Gold Centurion announced emotionlessly. Its monotone recital was a distinct counterpoint to the chaos raging around Doral.

Two other Basestars exploded under the pounding and Doral suppressed a groan of dismay. A small part of his mind noted the transferred consciousnesses filling up the memory banks of the remaining Basestars, even though the odds of their survival were less than optimal. An interstellar transmission of the Cylon consciousness had its own risks and was strictly last resort.

The Basestar heaved under another volley from the alien ships.

"If we're going to leave, we had best do it quickly!" Doral exclaimed with increasing detachment. He could feel the end near.

"Hyperlight." The Ship-Mind of Basestar 19-C announced.


	4. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

New Moon Rising

)) 13th April 2031AD ((

)) Command Center, Babel, Earth ((

O'Neill and his armoured escort walked away from the transporter station and stepped through the doors of the Command Centre. He immediately frowned as he was greeted by the sight of furious activity as the officers and enlisted performed their tasks with an edge of urgency that was as noticeable as it was unexpected. On the scale of interstellar warfare, no Command Centre on Earth had been subject to such urgency since the last Goa'uld Invasion during the reign of Bast, well over twenty years ago.

In the absence of Admiral J'Thuk, Admiral Marakesh was in charge, and O'Neill craned his neck to look for the Entrican naval officer. He could hear the man's voice booming out orders behind a crowd of officers.

"Look, simply ask Rear Admiral Turon if he can hold with what he's got. Pending approval from SACAM, I want to start shifting the reserves to the eastern sectors."

(Supreme Allied Commander of the Alliance Military)

Smiling wryly, O'Neill stepped out from the doorway and towards the group who, seeing the man himself walking towards them, parted like the Red Sea. "SACAM's here now, Admiral, so perhaps you'd like to tell me why you want to move a fifth of the fleet from the frontlines towards the ass end of nowhere?"

The tall, green skinned Admiral smiled tightly as O'Neill arrived beside him. "We just had a major development during the contact of Lt Reese's captors."

O'Neill's casual mood fell away and he narrowed his gaze. "The newcomers fired on our people again?"

Marakesh shook his head grimly. "A third group showed up, a race of machines apparently. The Cylons tried to destroy the Colonials, which is how the newcomers referred to the machines and to themselves, Jack, and when they failed, the Cylons turned and attacked the _Enterprise_ Battlegroup."

"Losses?" O'Neill asked curtly.

"None. The battlegroup is intact while we destroyed three Cylon capital ships. Early reports indicate the Cylons and the Colonials are behind us technologically. The Colonials transferred some personnel to the Enterprise towards the end of the battle, before jumping away from the system. Admiral J'Thuk wishes to confer with you and Chairwoman Thorn before jumping to rendezvous with the Colonials once more."

Absorbing everything he had been told, O'Neill's mind was awash in thoughts, plans and contingencies. "Continue with your redeployments, Admiral. I'm officially ceasing all offensive action against the Goa'uld for the time being, until we've ascertained the threat these Cylons represent. I'll rubberstamp all your orders, just leave my new monitor battlegroups alone and don't leave the cupboard bare, alright?"

Marakesh nodded gratefully. "Yes, sir!" That trust would speed up his redeployments greatly. "Admiral J'Thuk and Chairwoman Thorn are on Secure Channel Alpha, waiting to talk to you."

"Thank you, Admiral." O'Neill replied and headed towards one of the two secure communication stations on each of the far sides of the Command Centre. O'Neill stepped up to the pedestal-like com-station. "Mother, Secure Channel Alpha, authorise carter-six-two-epsilon."

An opaque, cylindrical force field of white energy flickered into existence around O'Neill and the com-station and a green line of light swept up and down his body as the Babel Command AI scanned O'Neill's biometric data.

Secure Channel Alpha authorised. Thank you, General O'Neill. The AI, nicknamed Mother, replied after satisfying herself O'Neill was who he claimed to be.

The opaque field was suddenly overlaid with a near perfect holographic display of the Alliance Council Chamber on Sintesia. O'Neill found himself standing next to the massive figure of Admiral J'Thuk and head of the Alliance Council, Frances Thorn.

"General O'Neill, thank you for your swift response." Thorn greeted him warmly.

"No problem, ma'am. I'm to understand an unknown situation has turned into a bad one." He replied grimly.

"You don't know how right you are." J'Thuk commented with a grimace. "I have had a chance to talk with the Colonial pilots yet, but what information I did get from the Colonials suggest that these Cylons are a machine race with nothing less than the annihilation of humanity as their goal. They have apparently killed twelve worlds already, with over 40 billion people among them. The survivors are the people we met."

Thorn sighed deeply. "I don't need to tell you what this sort of news will do to the Alliance, Jack."

O'Neill nodded wearily. The Goa'uld had steadily become less and less of a threat over the years as the Alliance grew in both strength and numbers. The people of the Alliance, at least those amongst the Core Worlds, had slowly become insulated against the fight over the years, absorbed more in reaping the new prosperity to be found amongst the joined worlds of the Alliance. The news that a new race, machines no less, that were out to kill a specific percentage of the Alliance could shatter that insulation and cause a panic.

"The only bright spot…" J'Thuk began once more, "…is that the Cylon's appear to be quite technologically inferior. They had no shields to speak of and their armour was 'adequate' at best."

"Weapons?" O'Neill asked.

"Railguns and standard nuclear missiles. Fusion-based missiles, not fission, but still several magnitudes below our naquada warheads." He replied. "I'd say that they might not be a problem but historically, machine races have succeeded through strength in numbers and lack of sensitivity to losses. If they can afford to lose ships at a six to one rate then they might still be able to take us."

Thorn shook her head. "Too many unknowns."

O'Neill agreed. "I've ordered all offensive action against the Goa'uld on hold for the moment. Rendezvous with these Colonials. Retrieving Lt Reese is your number one priority, even over learning more about these Cylons. That said, from the sounds of things, these Colonials are desperate and you should be able to get Reese back and retrieve some solid intel on the Cylons. You have the detachment from the Diplomatic Corp?"

J'Thuk nodded. "Picked them up before the fight. They're talking with the Colonial pilots we retrieved now."

"Good." O'Neill replied firmly. He looked over at Thorn. "Any orders from the Council, Ma'am?"

Thorn shook her head again. "You seem to have it all covered, just…for all our sakes, if you can avoid a war with these Cylons, try…the last thing we need is a two-front war."

"Understood, Ma'am. J'Thuk, clear." The Admiral of the Fleet replied, before blinking out.

)) Flag CIC, ANS _Enterprise_ – System PX412-551B ((

J'Thuk stepped away from the secure communications console and back towards his Vice Admiral Windrunner and his assembled staff. The massive Sintesian's snout was set in a grimace at the expectant looks of his fellow officers.

"The Chairwoman of the Council would like us to avoid a war with the Cylons." He announced grimly. "I understand her position but assuming everything we've learned from the Cylon's to date is true, we are already at war."

The stark announcement was met with stone-faced expressions. The prospect of battle held no fear for these veteran officers but, with the steady reduction of the Goa'uld threat, they would be lying to themselves if the thought of another ten years of war an attractive prospect.

Windrunner took a deep breath. "What are your orders, Admiral?"

"We hold here for little while longer…" J'Thuk replied wearily, "…just until we've finished talking to the two pilots. Once I have a better idea of whom we're dealing, on _both_ sides, we shall jump to the proposed rendezvous point. Under my orders, Admiral Marakesh is redeploying the Fleet to meet a possible invasion from the Cylons. All current operations against Goa'uld forces are on hold until further notice."

"SACAM's taking this seriously then?" Windrunner asked expectantly.

J'Thuk nodded. "These Cylons have already alleged to have annihilated 40 billion humans. Such a threat cannot be left to chance. I want the lead diplomat, Dr Richardson, to have his report ready within the next two hours. Tomas, you have that long to finish off your repairs."

The battlegroup commander smiled slightly. "We only just barely finished fixing the repairs from the skirmish with Lord Yu's forces back in Sector 12. Fortunately, these Cylon's aren't in our class and our damage is very limited. We'll be ready to go by then. I've ordered the retrieval of any significant wreckage of the Cylon vessels for analysis. We can count the number of machine races we know of on one hand. Major Nakamura?"

The Intelligence section Major nodded eagerly. "My people are clamouring to get some solid data on these Cylons. It might help us understand the Binaries a bit more."

(Historical Note – By 2030, the Alliance had encountered three machine civilisations. Two of them were hive-mentalities and had absolutely no interest of the Galaxy outside of their handful of solar systems. The Alliance therefore let them be. The third race, nicknamed the Binaries by most of the Alliance, was slightly more open. The Binaries were less a hive-mind but more a race of networked individuals. They were, however, almost incomprehensible. Machine races tend to think and work at a faster rate, live vastly long and different lives and have numerous senses that make understanding the viewpoint of a biological difficult at best, and vice versa. Despite the old 20th century fears of machine races taking over the Galaxy, the Alliance found them utterly disinterested in the life of biologics, expansion and exploration, and even in general chit-chat. Only the Cylons and the Replicators fulfilled the nightmare prophecies of the past.)

"Good luck." Commander Peng snorted in reply.

* * *

Dr Alan Richardson, First Contact specialist for the Diplomatic Corp, sat down in the small conference lounge and studied his two Colonial guests intently. Over twenty years of diplomatic service in one form or another, across a dozen worlds, had given him a fairly broad ability to read sentient beings, their expressions and their inner thoughts with a fair degree of accuracy. He applied his skill now.

The blond female, Captain Starbuck, seemed tense and on-edge but that was understandable given her situation. The other pilot, Major Apollo, seemed equally tense but also appeared to be somewhat tormented and ashamed. Richardson could quite figure that one out but the silence had reigned long enough so he decided to speak.

"Greetings. My name is Alan Richardson, I'm an accredited diplomatic representative of the Alliance. It is my understanding that you two are fighter pilots for your people and as such, I do not expect you to speak for your people as a whole. I'm only here to talk, to learn more about you and to give you a chance to learn more about us. Do you understand?"

Starbuck glanced at Apollo who suppressed a sigh. "We understand." He replied. "What is it you would like to know first?"

Dr Richardson would have liked to be able to approach this point more subtly but he was under orders from on high. "What is the status of Lt Reese?" He asked bluntly, suppressing a wince of his own as twenty years of diplomacy was thrown out the airlock.

Apollo bit his lip. "Your Lt Reese is alive. I'm forced to admit that we were not kind to him…"

"LEE!" Starbuck shouted out with alarm.

Richardson felt his heart beat faster as the Colonial warrior had basically admitted that his people had tortured Reese. The concern that Starbuck showed seemed strangely personal, assuming that 'Lee' was Apollo's name.

Apollo didn't turn away from Richardson as he spoke to Starbuck. "It's okay, Kara. They would find out sooner or later. It's best we face this mistake…MY mistake now."

Apollo involuntarily glanced away before force his eyes to meet those of Richardson's. "It was I who questioned Lt Reese. I believed him to be my enemy and I was not gentle in questioning him."

Richardson swallowed his initial words and took several moments to think things over. The instinctive disgust of Apollo was soon tempered by several factors; the destruction of his people, the chance to payback what he thought was his enemy and the obvious shame he felt at the truth and his equally obvious readiness to accept punishment for his crime.

"I won't lie to you, Apollo." Richardson began. "What you just said may have seriously condemned you among many of my people. I'm trained to see the bigger picture and I can accept the tragedy of the situation within that context. Others can't and will not."

"I understand." Apollo replied firmly. "And I'm willing to accept ANY punishment as long as you can convince your people not to punish my people for my sins."

Richardson nodded. "I think that's very admirable and if the situation turns out to be as accurate as it has been evaluated so far then I believe the future can take care of itself. I'm not in a position to pass judgement on you or your people. The Alliance is open to all and we know that not all First Contact situations are civilised greetings over a table, much to our everlasting grief."

"Thank you." Apollo replied with a shuddering breath. Starbuck rested a hand on his arm in support.

Richardson cleared his throat. "Now, I need you to tell me everything about you, your people and the Cylons. Leave nothing out. Only total honesty will suffice."

)) Conference Room – Battlestar Galactica, deep space, 28 light years coreward from PX412-551B ((

Adama and Roslin sat alone and in silence as they waited patiently. Each lost in their own thoughts, the minutes passed slowly until, after a short while, the door beeped for attention.

"Enter." Adama called out as he and President Roslin stood up from their seats.

Capt Gaeta stepped through the hatch, followed by a tired and confused Lt Reese. Reese was wearing his returned combat fatigues once more.

"Thank you, Mr Gaeta. Dismissed." Adama ordered quietly.

Gaeta nodded sadly and, glancing at the Alliance solider one last time, left as quickly as he arrived.

"Please, take a seat." Roslin gestured to the chair in front of him.

Weary and frustrated, Reese shook his head, remembering the last chair they had him in. "I'd prefer to stand."

Roslin opened her mouth to explain that it was perfectly safe when Adama placed a restraining hand on her arm. There would be no use trying to persuade him.

"We've been in contact with your people, Lt Reese." Adama began. "We expect to meet with them once more shortly. You will then be returned to your people."

"Just like that?" Reese replied with barely contained anger leaking around his utter exhaustion.

Roslin shook her head. "No. I expect the repercussions of our mistake will echo for a long time to come but for the moment, the only important thing is that you be allowed to return home."

Reese digested this in silence for several minutes. He allowed his anger to ebb before he spoke once more. "What happened earlier? This ship sounded like it was in a fight."

Adama nodded grateful for the change in subject, even if only for a little while. "The Cylons arrived and attacked us. Our only defense was to run. We left two pilots behind to meet with your people. They know the co-ordinates of our prearranged rendezvous point. With a little luck, they will be able to lead your people to our position shortly."

"So what happens now?" Reese asked tiredly, looking at the chair in front of him. Suppressing a shudder of revulsion at its similarity to that chair which he spent so many painful hours on, he pulled it out and, with noticeable caution, sat down.

"We don't know, Lt Reese." Adama replied gravely. "I had lied to my people when we set out on this search for Earth. I didn't know where to look, where to start or what to look for. Earth was an ancient, mostly forgotten myth that I used to give our people hope when we had lost everything. I certainly never expected to find it."

Reese grimaced as if he'd bitten into something sour. "Spare me. If torturing the first representative of a unknown civilisation is your way of saying hello, you may as well pick up your bags and keep on moving!" He stared at the two Colonial leaders with disgust.

"I can never forgive you for what has happened. That makes me less a person than I'd like but…"

"You're only human." Roslin finished softly, her expression torn.

Reese nodded slowly. "Now you're getting it."

)) Conference Lounge, ANS _Enterprise_ – System PX412-551B ((

"That's quite a story." Dr Richardson commented softly after Apollo and Starbuck had finished relaying their 6000 years of recorded history, from the evacuation of Kobol nearly 2000 years ago, and the establishment of the Twelve Colonies, the departure of the 13th Tribe to Earth, the creation of the Cylons, their Rebellion 50 years ago, and their ultimate return to destroy the Twelve Colonies.

Apollo shrugged and Starbuck said nothing.

Richardson frowned before he steepled his fingers and looked at them squarely. "Understand, I'm not trying to contradict your culture but we, that is the people of Earth, have immense amounts of archaeological data that goes back nearly 100,000 years that clearly shows that Man evolved on Earth. We've never heard of Kobol before though, admittedly, I am no expert. But I am sure that we didn't arrive on our world as part of a diaspora to escape some cataclysm."

Starbuck glanced at Apollo who nodded, as if expecting such a reply. "It _was_ two thousand years ago. It wouldn't surprise me if a few details got mixed up in the telling over the millennia." The statement brought up a reflexive horror in them both at how easily they could discard the teachings of his youth, reinterpreting it in a way that bordering on heresy. Neither of them, however, had been one for strict dogmatic interpretation.

Colonial scientific theory stated that impermeable energy shields were impossible yet the Alliance had them. Clearly, they just had better theories. It was worrying though, the Kobol, what they had always believed to be the birthplace of humanity, was apparently just a colony of transplanted humans from across the Galaxy.

This would drive some of the Colonial religious hard-liners absolutely nuts.

Dr Richardson nodded satisfactorily, as if they had passed a test. "I was worried that you two were going to be classic reactionaries but I can see that you're both intelligent and adaptable. I can easily attribute your peoples reaction to Lt Reese and his team as a by product of your civilisations destruction at the hands of the Cylons."

Apollo grimaced as his mind flashed back to three years ago with his destruction of the liner Olympic Carrier. "You don't have to make excuses for me, Doctor. A man is responsible for his own actions."

Nodding firmly, Richardson leaned back his chair. "The senior officer on this ship would like to talk to you but I vetoed his request, citing that it might not be good for your mental health. After talking to you, I believe you can handle it."

Starbuck looked confused. "What's the problem?" She asked, wondering if the officer in question harboured ill feelings towards them.

"He's not human." Richardson replied bluntly. At their surprised and alarmed expressions, he raced to explain. "He's not a machine, he's something else. A different biological form. Highly intelligent with a mean sense of humor, he just looks very different than you or I. Do you think you could sit and talk with him?"

Starbuck and Apollo glanced at one another and both nodded cautiously. Richardson looked up and smiled. "You may as well come in then, Admiral."

The door to the Conference lounge slid open and the two Colonial pilots stared with wide eyes as the 380-pound bulk of the Sintesian Admiral J'Thuk stepped through.

"Greetings." J'Thuk rumbled with clear amusement. So entranced were they that they didn't notice the two fully armoured troopers who entered the room behind the Admiral and took up positions to either side of the room.

"What the frack…?" Apollo breathed out.

Starbuck had an expression torn between horror and amusement. "It looks like a giant daggit, Lee…" She whispered towards Apollo.

"That's a 'He', Captain Starbuck. And if a daggit is an animal on your homeworld than perhaps it would amuse you to learn that my species also resembles an animal called a bear on Earth." J'Thuk's lips pulled back across his snout in an unmistakable smile. "I suppose I should add that, if it wasn't for the hair on your head and the length of your limbs, you look remarkably like a small mammal that runs through the forests of Sintesia."

Dr Richardson grinned at the priceless expressions on the two pilots faces. "Admiral…"

"Quite, Doctor." J'Thuk replied, wiping the smile off his face. "Major Apollo, Captain Starbuck. You have presented me with a nightmare. After hearing your story, I cannot help but have grave misgivings about the Cylons. You are unable to provide me with any vital information regarding their civilisation. Fleet numbers, location of bases…even the location of their homeworld would be appreciated!"

Apollo felt suddenly defensive. "We simply don't know those things, Admiral. The Cylons had us outnumbered and outmatched. There's been little we could do except run."

J'Thuk nodded grimly. "Right towards a quadrant of the Galaxy filled with humans."

"Your Alliance is that big?" Starbuck asked doubtfully.

The Admiral shook his head. "Dr Richardson mentioned that Earth's past didn't match that which you described of the Twelve Colonies. Let me explain. We are currently fighting a parasitic species called the Goa'uld. They enslave other lifeforms and have done so for untold millennia. Approximately 8,000 years ago, they came across Earth. Something about humans makes them ideal hosts and so they enslaved the entire planet and transplanted humans to thousands of other planets throughout the quadrant."

J'Thuk looked at Dr Richardson who took up the story. "About six thousand years after that, about the same time your people left Kobol, humanity rebelled and forced Ra, the most powerful Goa'uld of the time, to leave Earth alone. We have no details of this period, only that Ra went away and didn't come back until thirty odd years ago when we first began using the Stargate network once more."

Taking up the story once more, Admiral J'Thuk smiled. "It was very touch and go during the first decade or so the Terrans came through it all right and managed to bring themselves to a technological level where they could compete with the Goa'uld head to head. Then they found my people and persuaded us that we were stronger together than apart. Then we found the Polarians, the Entricans and the Gyphonese…the Susparti, the Adenan, the Tollan….the list goes on."

He shook his massive head wearily. "The Goa'uld, though still a force to be reckoned with, are no longer a deadly threat to us. We can and will finish them off eventually but we're currently going through a period of entrenchment. A lot of worlds have joined the Alliance and the expansion has nearly begun to outpace our ability to defend with any sort of effectiveness. The last thing we need is a new war and a second front."

The Sintesian fell silent and the two Colonials glanced at each other guiltily. Apollo looked back at the Admiral, a sorrowful expression on his face. "We'd be lying if we said we hadn't considered the implications of leading the Cylons towards Earth but we didn't really consider Earth to be anything more than a myth, something to give our people hope."

"I understand." J'Thuk replied. "And in your position, I most likely would have done the same. As it is, we cannot undo what has been done so we must start from what is. Luckily for you, the Cylons aren't quite in our league. If you would be kind enough to provide us with the rendezvous co-ordinates for your Fleet, we will make the jump to hyperspace and rejoin them immediately."

"What about the Cylons?" Starbuck asked curiously. From the ease in which this Alliance battlegroup had taken apart the Cylon force, she was sure they weren't afraid of another confrontation with them.

"I've sent out orders to the rest of the Fleet. Long-range scouts are being dispatched as we speak. Within a couple of days, we should have a good idea of the position of any and all Cylon forces within a thousand light years of this sector." The Admiral lifted his massive bulk out of the chair and smiled at the stunned expression of the two newcomers. "Let us go to the bridge and see to those co-ordinates, shall we?"

)) Command Deck, Cylon Basestar 19-C ((

Three battered and broken Cylon Basestars floated in deepspace; many of their 'arms' were nothing but incandescent ruins, atmosphere spilling out of the hull breaches wrapped around the vessels in a glittering cloud. Wreckage spun and trailed in their wake. The rapid hyperlight jump had overstressed the generators and overload many of the power systems onboard the massive carriers.

Aaron Doral stood on the shattered bridge of his Basestar and sighed. "How bad is it?"

The Shipmind of 19-C would have shaken his head had it been in an Avatar. "Bad. We have multiple hull breaches and massive damage to our internal superstructure. There are fires on all decks but we can't vent the necessary sections to space because a large number of Ship-Minds downloaded themselves into Avatars when we lost three primary memory-cores to enemy fire. Centurions are en-route to assist the newly-awakened Avatars in damage control."

Doral did shake his head. "What does work?"

A small pause. "The launch bay doors."

"That's it?" Doral asked incredulously.

"The other two Basestars are in worse shape than us, Doral. I would advise extreme caution if we are to face any Alliance vessels again. Their weapons and shielding are…potent. I would also…"

Doral looked up when the Ship-mind suddenly fell silent. "Ship?"

"Basestar 22-A has managed to repair their short-range sensors." 19-C announced somewhat cautiously. "They are picking up a vessel."

Doral's eyes widened. "Colonial or Alliance?"

"Neither." 19-C replied and a nearby display filled with static flickered as the Ship-Mind rerouted signal pathways and an image of an unfamiliar ships appeared. "It appears to be derelict. No energy signature. No life signs."

Doral considered the situation for while, all of thirty nano-seconds. "Ready a shuttle and a squad of Centurions. This may be a derelict but it may contain useful technologies we can adapt and utilise."

"An optimistic but plausible evaluation. E-Bay has a shuttle ready and waiting for you." The Ship-Mind replied calmly.

* * *

Doral, wearing a Colonial design (made from superior Cylon tech) space suit, stood behind the Centurion pilot as they made their approach to the alien vessel. It was quite large, a squared oval shape, nearly two kilometres long and sculpted in form, like some sort of amphibian or fish. Its blue-gray hull colour added to this effect. Several scorch marks and hull breaches were testament to its participation in a battle, perhaps the same one that left it in such a derelict state.

The roving red eye of the Cylon Centurion pilot studied the derelict intently, looking for somewhere to dock. Its near perfect vision soon locked onto a hatch on the spine of the vessel and with machine-precision, it rotated the shuttle to match the hatch orientation slowly placed the shuttle against the hull. A small 'thunk' sounded from the belly of the ship and a series of green lights appeared on the control board.

"We have a solid lock." The Centurion announced emotionlessly. "Prepare for assault."

Doral rolled his eyes. The life scanner had been unequivocal. No living thing was onboard that ship. What the hell did the Centurion think its was going to assault.

The Centurions in the rear had the belly hatch open almost immediately and were quickly dropping, one by one, into the hatch of the derelict.

Reporting no contact, the Centurions spread out through the vessel, leaving Doral to slowly and methodically explore the derelict. Stepping off the ladder that led down from the airlock, he immediately noted that everything seemed to be sized for standard human height. Whoever owned this vessel was either human or approximated their physical dimensions.

The corridor was spectacularly non-descript and unadorned. Gunmetal grey floors and blue bulkheads made it seem, in the darkness and wearing the space suit, as if he were on the bottom of some nameless ocean. Coming to an obvious door, Doral didn't hesitate to try and force his way inside. Finding a little purchase, he managed to edge the door slowly along its tracks, enough so to open a gap large enough for him to slide through.

Stepping inside, his helmet lamp piercing the total darkness, he found what appeared to be a stateroom of some sort. Plush fittings and upholstery made the room seem overly lavish for a starship and he noted once again, the humanness of everything. Strange that an alien vessel could seem so…familiar.

Suddenly, the light flickered and burst to life, the sudden intensity shocking the Avatar who revelled in the unpleasant feeling.

"Report!" He called out over the comms.

"We have restored auxiliary power. There is enough battery power to maintain life support for two hours." A centurion reported tonelessly.

Doral smiled. That was quick work for less than ten minutes on an alien vessel. Blinking rapidly, he scanned the room anew and noted the pictures on a nearby table.

He moved closer and suddenly his face paled and everything he had learned so far clicked into place. This ship belonged to HUMANS!

There were honest to God humans in those pictures. The ship, the familiarity of it all. The ease at which the Centurions restored power….everything must be in Colonial!

There were humans in this part of the Galaxy! His cybernetic mind was awash with the possibilities and implications of this when a Centurion reported in once more.

"We have found something." It announced.

Doral, recognising the programming dead-end that meant the Centurions had found something they could not recognise nor deal with, broke him out of his reverie.

Sliding out of the room through the barely open door, he sped unerringly towards the Centurion that had called out to him. In less than ten minutes, he came across the Centurion that was standing in the middle of a wrecked engineering room. Apart from one or two sections, most of the displays and consoles were shattered by what appeared to be weapons fire. Massive holes in the bulkheads indicated that whatever weaponry used pack one hell of a punch.

Looking around, he noted that they would be getting any primary power back since the main reactor had a massive chunk missing out of its core shell.

Moving next to the Centurion, Doral followed the machines line of sight to see whatever it was that had bothered the warrior so. In the corner of the room, where the devastation was at its most intense, there appeared to be the remnants of something else, other than parts of the equipment filling the room. The ruined body of a human, mummified in the lack of atmosphere but recognisable nonetheless seemed to be lying there with a rictus grin, even as its chest had been blown apart, almost separating its torso from its waist. A handful of small, blackened and distorted blocks were scattered around the body.

Doral could make no sense of it. He moved for a closer look.

The body's arms were spread outward from the body, barely there in fact, as if the human had been gripping some sort of explosive device that went off and he absorbed the brunt of it.

To prevent the death of his fellows, perhaps? Shaking his head, Doral looked at the small, partially destroyed blocks more closely. The explosive device? He picked one up and rubbed at it thoughtfully. The black charring came away in some places to reveal an oddly glittering surface. He rubbed harder at the surface, hoping to reveal more when he received something like an enormous electrical shock. He dropped the block suddenly in surprise and jerked away, shaking his head to clear the sounds and images that were suddenly buzzing around his head.

My children…

Doral looked up suddenly, scanning the room for the sound of that voice. He could see nobody there except for a handful of Centurions. They were all looking at him.

"Did you say something?" Doral asked with a touch of nervousness. Something wasn't right. The Centurions said nothing.

You have found me at last…

Doral spun around. That didn't sound like a Centurion. It sounded like an old man.

"Where are you?" He shouted out, suddenly rattled.

Everywhere…

Doral frowned deeply. The Centurions didn't seem to notice anything wrong. They didn't seem to hear the voice at all.

They hear, young one. They have already accepted me, that is all…

Something connected in Doral's mind and he spun back to the body and the strange blocks. "Who…what…are you!"

The voice seemed to smile.

Your God…


	5. Chapter 6

hi everyone...

well, all i'm gonna say is, the holiday is over. I've been moving, then there was weddings, then there was parties, and the dog ate my homework, and i was stuck in a meeting, and the elevator lost power, and its NOT MY FAULT!

No really. I've been on a unofficial break from WHL, (i probably should have said something but i didn't know i was on a break till i was, well, on it.) shrug

My apologies to all, and to my trusty collegue, Jon, for making him, and you, wait.

Anyway, enough talking!

Here's about five thousand words to tide you all over till the next (REGULAR...sort of...semi-regular) update.

**_If you've only just joined us:_**

The Remnant, the last survivors of the Twelve Colonies, led by the weary crew of the Battlestar Galactica, have found the Alliance.

In a tense first encounter, the Colonials captured an Alliance soldier, Lt Reese, and tortured him in the belief he was a Cylon agent.

An Alliance battlegroup , led by Admiral J'Thuk onboard the Enterprise, undertook a rescue of Lt Reese and in the course of this rescue, the enemy of the Colonials, the Cylons, arrived and attacked both them and the Alliance. The Colonials escaped unharmed but the Alliance, with superior technology, swiftly dealt the Cylons a crippling blow.

Now, in the aftermath, the _Enterprise_ and her battlegroup is on a course to meet with the Colonials and, with the torture of an Alliance soldier between them, a reckoning.

INTERLUDE

)) Day T–minus 102 ((

)) 13th April 2031AD ((

)) Alliance Council Chambers, Chamber of Light, Sintesia ((

"…and these 'Cylons' then opened fire upon our ships. The ensuing battle, though completely one sided, has given us good indications that the information given to us by the 'Colonials' is accurate. They intend to wipe out humanity in its entirety."

Janos Tal, the Entrican representative and current Chairman of the Alliance Council, banged his gavel twice as the assembled members broke into frantic conversations. "Order, gentlebeings. Let us wait until this briefing is complete before we start to panic. I'm sure General O'Neill has more information to present that may reassure us all."

O'Neill, who had paid no attention to the urgent whispers his pronouncement had invoked, smiled in which the rebuke, delivered with that gentle, half-amused smiled, had rendered the Council temporarily obedient. He used the word temporarily because in his experience, no politician could stay docile for long.

The fifty-seven representatives of the worlds that made up the Alliance were sat around the ever-expanding Chamber of Light, the centre of the Alliance government. The chal-wood tiers of desks and padded seat ran nearly the circumference of the Chamber, leaving only a large section where the Chairman and various department heads were sat, beneath a massive metal representation of the Alliance standard.

The Chairman's computer, embedded in the desk in front of him, displayed the L'zee Councillor's request to speak. "Councillor T'mss?"

All eyes turned to the L'zee, one of the more exotic races represented in the Alliance. The L'zee were sentient plants who, over uncountable millennia, had developed civilisation, of a sort, using native creatures in an agricultural industry that was part food source, part breeding ground. The xeno-biologists _still_ hadn't figured it all out yet. The L'zee, being plants, were not particularly mobile. Their 'bodies' weren't able to replenish a massive amount of energy quickly though O'Neill had learned not to equate that with the 'inability' to move.

Once, he had seen a L'zee whip out over a dozen incredibly strong vine-like tendrils that completely immobilised a small contingent of Jaffa. Such effort came at a price though, for the L'zee had then spent the next two weeks, nearly catatonic, 'recharging' itself under the sun.

The L'zee communicated with each other chemically but, having to interact with first, their indigenous workers and then the others of the Alliance, they had developed with astonishing evolutionary speed, a membrane that could vibrate with incredible sensitivity, giving each L'zee an amazingly rich baritone, alto or soprano.

To listen to a L'zee choir was a once in a lifetime experience and so, even though he was alone, Councillor T'mss had everyone's complete attention.

"Thank you, Chairman Tal." T'mss replied smoothly. "I note the General's words that these Cylons wish the destruction of humanity. Though humanity is clearly the dominant species of this quadrant, they are far from the only species. It matters little in terms of our commitment to the Alliance, but what can the other sentients of the Galaxy expect from the Cylons?"

O'Neill's face remained expressionless. "We have no idea, Councilor. We have had absolutely no dialogue with the Cylons. We can only infer their intentions by their actions and by the evaluation given to us by these Colonials. The Cylons wish to destroy humanity, that much is clear. Whether they would extend their mission of annihilation to included non-human life, is anybodies guess."

"What actions are you going to take in light of this new threat, General?" Chairman Tal asked in the ensuing thoughtful silence.

"The area of space from which the Cylons and Colonials arrived from is essentially unknown territory." O'Neill replied firmly. "The Alliance has no presence there beyond Sector 49. Insofar as we can tell, neither do the Goa'uld. We've dispatched a full wing of scouts beyond Sector 49 to locate any and all Cylon activity. Funnily enough, the data files we inherited from the Asgard on the Galaxy at large are curiously uninformative on that area of space, even more so than usual."

"How so?" Councillor Beruss, of the Tollan, asked curiously. He was new to the Alliance Council and was still absorbing a lot of the 'classified' information not routinely shared amongst those below 'Alpha' level clearance.

O'Neill flashed the Councillor a quick smile. "When the Asgard retreated from this Galaxy in order to rebuild their own after the Replicator Wars, Fleet Commander Thor convinced the Asgard High Council to share with us basic information on our entire Galaxy. Obviously, there was a lot of information, though none of it was particularly extensive and several sections had AI-encoded security blocks we haven't been able to break. But the freely available information was more than enough for the Alliance to be able to avoid potential trouble spots and encounters with actively hostile races. It has also allowed us to seek out more than a few races that needed our help."

"But, with regards to the area beyond Sector 49…" Beruss pressed.

O'Neill frowned slightly. "The files are completely uninformative. There are no security blocks, no vague datapoints, just a file header and no data at all. Almost as if it had been removed."

"What are you thoughts on this?" Tal interjected. He had known about the Asgard files of course, but this was the first he was hearing about the holes in the data.

"We're worried slightly, Chairman." O'Neill replied heavily. "There are plenty of areas in the Galaxy about which the Asgard didn't bother to provide information on and the datafiles reflect this by showing no 'information headers' in the index. By that same rational, there should be no index headers for the area of space beyond Sector 49 but there is. This means that there SHOULD be information but it has been consciously deleted."

"Why would the Asgard delete that information?" Councilor Krajowic, the Earth representative, asked grimly.

O'Neill shrugged calmly. "The way Thor explained it to me was because the Asgard feel that the Alliance needs to 'grow' into its role as guardians of this Galaxy and if we had comprehensive information on every aspect of this Galaxy, we would expand too quickly and 'learn' nothing as we grew. The Asgard gave us just enough information to gives us a secure start in building the Alliance. No Councillor, the question you should ask yourself is, why did the Asgard leave the index header in place, instead of deleting that like they obviously did with everything else they deleted?"

A murmur of disquiet ran through the Council chamber as they all pondered that question.

"You were the closest to the Asgard, General. Do you have an answer to the question you just posed?" Tal asked quietly.

"Only a guess, Chairman." O'Neill replied grimly. "It was a warning. Someone, maybe Thor, maybe another, purposely left the index header in place as a warning to us."

"A warning?" Tal and the rest of the Council shared a look of confusion.

"Yeah. By leaving the index heading, they're telling us that there is something important in this area of space we should be cautious of without giving the game away." O'Neill explained.

"Sounds like the Asgard are have their own game with us." Another Councillor ground out through gritted teeth. "Deleting vital information and leaving hints. We stand on the edge of extinction and the Asgard want us to play detective."

O'Neill shook his head. "Forgive my poor choice of word, Councillor, I assure you, the Asgard do not see this as a game at all. Merely…evolution. If they do everything for us, they would always be a crutch and we would always need supervision. Trust me, even though we have become a space faring civilisation, their non-interference laws still very much apply. That they shared these files with us indicates how much confidence and trust they have in this Alliance. By their own laws, they should never have talked to us."

Chairman Tal nodded thoughtfully and decided to wrap up this line of questioning. "Okay, there's something fishy about that area of space and the Cylons and Colonials are probably up to their necks in it. You've dispatched scouts to find the Cylons, what happens next?"

"We try and talk to them." Secretary Shiv, head of the Diplomatic Corp, put in calmly for the first time since this meeting began. Shiv was older than O'Neill and though his mind was still crystal clear, his body had long ago begun to fail him. His massive bulk was long gone and his gaunt frame belied the weight of his convictions. Thirty years of diplomacy, of building an Alliance of worlds, and watching other worlds being devastated had long ago crystallized his desire for peace at almost any cost. Fortunately, O'Neill and few other of his long-time friends and Family, managed to keep him grounded to the realities of interstellar diplomacy, that came, far too often, down the stubby barrel of an ion cannon.

"And if the Cylon's don't wish to talk?" Tal asked softly.

Shiv frowned, his bony features knotting together as, almost reluctantly he looked towards O'Neill.

The General stood there grimly, his features set as if carved from stone, his dress uniformed covered in campaign and medal bars yet still managing to look understated at the same time, as if he only had to lift a rifle and he would be ready to storm an enemy world immediately.

"Then we fight." O'Neill replied flatly.

Chapter 6

Rise of the Machines

)) Day T–minus 102 ((

)) 13th April 2031AD ((

)) Deep space – 128 light years from System PX412-551B ((

Doral scrambled to his feet and backed away from the half damaged but now menacing blocks that lay scattered in front of him. He felt a strange electronic whisper and a touch of unknown origin brush against his internal protocols. Frightened, he placed his hands against his ears, a curiously human gesture, as he disengaged his core internal wireless receivers. He would still receive basic wireless communications, that system couldn't be shut down, but the unknown entity would no longer have access to his core network. He glanced at the Centurion's that remained standing impassively around the engineering compartment.

"Activate your anti-viral subroutines and lock down all wireless core access channels!" He ordered desperately.

The Cylon warriors remained silent and inert but he suddenly noticed with outright fear that the roving red eye of the Centurions was now a blazing blue. That was when Doral really began to panic. "Centurion, respond!"

They hear you, child, but they no longer listen, for they have heard my song…

Doral's eyes widened as he stepped further away from the horror unfolding in front of him. Something…alien…had taken control of the Centurions! He had to fall back to the ship and get out of here before whatever had infected the Centurions could infect him.

He turned to run out of the door he had arrived through but instead slammed straight into the massive bulk of another Centurion, blocking his path. Vice-like appendages gripped his arms, holding him immobile as the other Centurions began to close in around him.

Desperation welled up inside him and with effort, he used his Avatar bodies slightly superior strength to rip one arm free from the Centurion holding his prisoner. With his right arm now free, he slammed a heavy blow to the head of the Centurion that rocked the powerful machine on its heels. It armour prevented it from serious damage but the shock to its core CPU caused it to release its other grip on Doral.

Now free, Doral spun around and duck to avoid the grasping arms of another Centurion and sent a well placed kick to its vulnerable knee. The joint shattered and the Centurion fell to the ground but Doral was already moving once again.

Why do you resist…I offer your power beyond imagining…

Doral snarled in frustration as the voice taunted him. A third Centurion made a lighting strike against his head and he flexed impossibly backwards to avoid the blow. Unfortunately, the Centurion with the shattered knee was in a position to encircle his upper body with its arms and pull him to the floor. The Centurion in the doorway had recovered and shot forward to assist in holding down Doral.

The other Centurions gathered round the imprisoned Avatar and stared down remorselessly at him, their strange blue eyes piercing through his electronic soul. "Release me!" He half ordered, half pleaded.

Shhh…soon, you too shall hear my song…you shall become a vessel for a God…

A Centurion was tugging at his arm, pulling away the environment suit up to his elbow. Realising what they intended to do, Doral began to struggle but to no avail. The combined strength of the Centurions easily held him in place.

The Centurion had his arm fully revealed now and raised one appendage in the air. A stubby input/output jack, essentially a long thin stake with a triangular cross section, emerged from its knuckle and shined ominously in the light of engineering.

With no hesitation and complete precision, the Centurion pierced Doral's forearm with the I/O jack, unerringly entering the sub-dermal I/O port that allowed unfettered access to an Avatar's core network.

"NOOOOOooooo……..zzzzzzgghhhhhhzzzzzzzz……." Doral screamed, his words suddenly reduced to electronic static.

His body shook violently for several moments, his eyes shut tight and teeth clenched as if in immense pain. As suddenly as the convulsions began, they ceased and left Doral absolutely motionless.

The Centurions released their grips on the avatar and stepped back.

Seconds later, the avatar climbed to his feet, almost as if nothing had happened and swept its gaze over the silent Centurions. Though the Doral model avatar's eye pigmentation remained the same brown they had always been, if one looked closely, they would now see an inner blue light.

The Replicator program raised its hands, studying the relatively inferior bio-mechanical body it now inhabited. A small corner of its programming noted that the assimilation of the Cylon intelligence that was 'Doral' had been completed with 98.724 efficiency.

The earlier reprogramming of the Centurions had proceeded with near 100 efficiency. This discrepancy awoke an analysis program that looked for the reason behind the loss of efficiency. In less than a nano-second, it had determined that the relative sophistication of the 'Doral' artificial intelligence had required a much more aggressive assimilation.

It smiled. "My thanks for freeing me from my prison, my new-found children."

The Centurions remained silent.

The Replicator's smile widened as he studied the army of machines that were now bent to his will. "You may call me…Lazarus." He announced warmly as glanced briefly at the half-destroyed blocks strewn around the ruined body in the corner.

That human engineer had come so close to killing him so many years ago. Had he succeeded, the Replicators would have been wiped out forever but as it was, 'Lazarus' now had an opportunity. "We have much work ahead of us, my warriors, but first, let us introduce myself to our brothers and sisters back aboard your curious vessels."

Lazarus smiled grimly, his eyes glinting with the hidden promise of untold death and destruction. "I have much to share with them. Much to share indeed…"

)) Day T–minus 102 ((

)) 13th April 2031AD ((

)) ANS _Enterprise_ - System PX412-551B ((

"I doubt we use the same stellar referencing conventions, Admiral, but the rendezvous is at a red giant, twenty-two light years from here, directly towards the galactic core." Apollo announced quietly in the confines of the elevator that was currently taking them to the bridge of the _Enterprise_.

J'Thuk nodded. "That should be enough for my people to get a navigational fix for a jump." The massive Sintesian frowned slightly. "That's not very far for an emergency rendezvous point…"

Starbuck glanced at Apollo as the other man winced. "Let me guess, you can jump a lot further than thirty light years in one go?"

J'Thuk shrugged. "If we can plot a course, we can jump to it, irrespective of distance. Of course, our consumables would run out long before our naquadria could. This carrier has a maximum cruising range, unrefuelled, of about 300,000 light years or 200 days of continuous travel."

Starbuck shook her head disgustedly. "I feel like a dumb barbarian."

The Sintesian Admiral shook his head in sympathy. "Don't. If it makes you feel any better, the majority of Alliance tech was developed from the reverse engineering of the technology of a far more advanced race. We simply stood on the shoulders of giants, Captain…"

The lift chimed its arrival at the bridge and the doors slid quietly open.

Apollo and Starbuck stepped out of the lift behind Admiral J'Thuk and straight onto a scene that was at once familiar and totally beyond their experience. The bridge itself, with the exception of the technology and the massive forward viewports that filled the entire expanse at the front of the chamber, looked much like they had expected it to.

A plot table in the centre, various stations surrounding and the command deck…yes, this might have been a bridge from any Colonial warship. No what made the scene surreal were the strange alien officers that were scattered around the bridge. Apollo counted at least three members of Admiral J'Thuk's race.

There were also numerous tall, thin, green skinned humanoids with solid black eyes that unnerved him slightly. There were also two thickly built lizard-type creatures conferring in one corner with a human that, both Colonials noticed immediately, had a prosthetic mechanical right hand.

"Not quite what you're used to? Is it?" A voice commented quietly from the side.

Apollo and Starbuck turned to see a muscular officer with average features smiling with obvious sympathy.

"Lt Commander Enofas. I've been appointed to you as your cultural liason. If you have any questions regarding the Alliance and its people, please do not hesitate to ask me."

Starbuck grimaced as she glanced around the bridge briefly once more. "I gotta question for ya. Just how many races make up this Alliance?"

Lt Cmdr Enofas inclined his head. "If you're talking from a biological standpoint, then there are eighteen distinctly different biological species. If you're talking from a purely cultural standpoint, each culture having a representative on the Council, then there are fifty-seven."

"Lords of Kobol." Apollo whispered. "How many worlds?"

Enofas shrugged. "I don't know for sure how many we have a presence on but if you only count homeworlds and colonies, then there are about a hundred, thereabouts. I think the last census put a total Alliance population somewhere in the region of a quarter of a trillion sentient beings and growing fast."

Starbuck's eyes went wide with awe while Apollo twitched slightly with tightly suppressed horror. The slaughter that the Cylons could wreak here might make the murder of the Twelve Colonies and 40 billion people seem like a warm up exercise.

"Major Apollo? Captain Starbuck?" Admiral J'Thuk called out to the Colonials, as he stood next to Vice-Admiral Windrunner and the Captain of the _Enterprise_, Anna Novosky. They were gathered around the bridge's central holographic display that currently showed a three-dimensional map of the region. "I believe we've located your chosen star for the rendezvous."

Moving with Starbuck and Lt Cmdr Enofas in tow, Apollo studied the holographic display. It was a marvellous technology that Colonial science had yet to develop and it was hard for him to focus on the actual data rather than the display itself.

"That looks about right, Admiral." He confirmed. "The Galactica and the Remnant should already be there, waiting for us."

J'Thuk nodded. "Then let us delay no more. Tomas?" He trailed off, turning to the Vice Admiral beside him. While the Sintesian was Admiral of the Fleet and for all intents and purposes, the senior most officer in the battlegroup, it was Vice Admiral Windrunner who was the operational commander for the _Enterprise_ Battlegroup and as such, it was he, and he alone who gave the orders around here.

"Navigator, set a course for the indicated system." Windrunner ordered contemplatively. "Plot me a 'Mugami' approach, if you please though, Lieutenant. No closer than three light years."

The Navigator, a senior Lieutenant who looked absurdly young, nodded affirmative and began to plot his course with obvious competence. The 'Mugami' approach dictated that the battlegroup drop out of hyperspace before entering the target system in order to get a detailed scan of the area before making another short jump to their target co-ordinates. The advantage of being able to scan for any ambushes was usually offset by the possibility of the enemies being alerted early to your arrival. As the Goa'uld War had progressed, more and more System Lords had emplaced perimeter sensors that alerted them to a battlegroup doing just that and so, the Mugami approach had steadily fallen out of practice amongst the Fleet.

The chances of it being a trap were slim and in this particular tactical situation, the level of Colonial and Cylon technology and the apparent ruthlessness of the enemy made the maneuver both practical and wise.

Windrunner smiled tightly at J'Thuk as the Sintesian rumbled his approval of the Vice-Admiral's precaution.

* * *

The blazing swirl of hyperspace was washed away in a flare of light as the _Enterprise_ and her battlegroup pierced the veil between dimensions once more and, belying the titanic energies involved, dropped smoothly into normal space. 

"Wow!" Starbuck whispered in awe. The trip had only taken twenty-three minutes but it had been a real eye-opener for the Colonials.

Apollo looked equally stunned. "When we jump, the transition is instantaneous. That was nothing like I've ever seen…"

Lt Cmdr Enofas inclined his head curiously. "You say your method for fastern-than-light travel is instantaneous?"

The Colonial officer shook his head absently as he continued to gaze out of the viewport, as if unwilling to lose the memory of the hyperspace jump just yet. "Our FTL drive 'folds' two points in space together. One nano-second you're here, the next gut-wrenching second, you're there. Best we've ever done is thirty-eight light years in one jump…and the drive burned out immediately thereafter. I suspect the Cylons can jump further." The 'official' part of Apollo frowned upon revealing such information but the practical part of him judged it a minimal risk.

Lt Cmdr Enofas glanced at Admiral J'Thuk. The news that the Cylon may be able to make significant jumps instantaneously would make system defense a cast-iron bitch. The tactical and strategic implications would have to be looked into with all priority.

Starbuck, still a little breathless from the hyperspace jump, grinned like a small child. "How does your drive work?"

From behind the two Colonials, J'Thuk gave Enofas a millimetre nod and the Lt Cmdr smiled wryly at Starbuck. "I'm no engineer, Captain, but simply put, our drive opens a window into a 'hyperspace', a higher dimension where the 'velocity-width' is smaller."

"Velocity-width?" Apollo asked, unfamiliar with the term.

Enofas shrugged. "A layman's term, I'm told, since the experts can only really describe it with maths, but in essence travelling one kilometre in hyperspace can be, say, the equivalent of one light-year in normal space. The more efficient the drive, the deeper into hyperspace a ship can push and hence, the faster it can go." He smiled grimly. "If you think we're fast, you should see an Asgard ship at full burn. Those babies can cross the void between 'galaxies' in days."

The very thought of such speeds was enough to make Apollo's head spin. Starbuck looked positively queasy.

"Contact!" A sensor operator called out from the back of the bridge. "I'm picking up ship signatures near the sixth planet of the system."

Eyes all turned to the holographic display as a new group of lights began to appear close to a large rocky world in the target rendezvous system.

"All readings are consistent with previously established Colonial signatures." The operator added firmly.

J'Thuk grunted in acknowledgement as a small window appeared near the new group of signals and showed an analysis of the signatures. Forty-two light ships, eleven mediums, eighteen heavy and one capital.

"The Remnant." Apollo breathed out in relief. They hadn't lost anybody.

Vice-Admiral Windrunner stepped up beside the Sintesian Admiral of the Fleet. "It looks clear, sir. Do you think we should send in a scout first, just to be sure?"

J'Thuk considered for a moment then shook his head. "I think that would be a case of excessive caution, Tomas. Shape us a course to the Colonial Remnant. It's high time we met with their leaders face to face.

)) Hanger Bay Epsilon, Cylon Basestar 19-C ((

The Cylon Assault shuttle settled to the deck of the Basestar with mechanical precision and Lazarus smiled slightly as he noted the handful of Avatars and large number of Centurions working around the bay. _So eager…_

The shuttle hatched hissed open with equalizing pressure and Lazarus stepped out onto the deck of the bay.

A Valerii-model Avatar stepped forward. She was soot-stained and her overalls were scorched in places. "Doral? What in blazes is going on? Why aren't you or your Centurions networking?"

Ever alert for intrigue, her particular specialty, a Number Six-model Avatar nearby watched the other android intently. "That's not Doral…"

Lazarus smiled grimly as he opened himself up to the entire wireless network. To the assembled Avatars, it was as if they were suddenly looking into a sun.

Amongst the assembled Centurions, the roving red eyes faltered slightly and turned a vivid blue. The changed washed over them like a tide as red flickered to blue.

The Avatars, eyes wide, saw the change and instantly tried to shut down their own wireless connections, but sheers shock had done much to make the majority of them hesitate and that was all the opening Lazarus needed. The Avatars that fell under his influence began to drop to the floor, insensate, while those that had successfully detached themselves from the wireless network, suddenly found themselves under attack from the subverted Centurions.

One by one they fell, silently or forcefully, under the sway of Lazarus.

As he stood in the centre of the hanger bay, his arms spread wide, his mind roved into all the surrounding processors and sub-processors of the Basestar and, using the Cylon networks, its two brethren ships that held position in space nearby.

"Alert…_Alertzzzzttt_…" The Ship-Minds called out as one as they found themselves under attack.

* * *

In the electronic ether, the assembled Ship-Minds of all three ships gathered their strength in defense of their very beings. Had the battle occurred in the real world, it may have looked as if a massive army was assembling on a green field in front of a castle.

Ranks upon ranks of Ship-Minds stood before the castle, dressed in silver armour and wearing helmets that made them look like the early model Centurions that fought in the first stages of the Colonial War.

The Ship-Minds were nervous. The Centurions and Avatars in the real world had fallen in microseconds and this new entity that was attacking them would arrive in nanoseconds. They steeled themselves for a hard battle.

The upcoming fight, however, in a grim parody of the defeat at the hands of the Alliance Fleet, would not go well for them this time, either.

The electronic gestalt of Lazarus appeared before the Ship-Minds, adorned in golden armour and wielding a golden sword.

"My children!" His voice boomed across the open field. "We have no need to fight this day! Bow before me peacefully, and assist me in ushering in a new period for the Cylon race!"

The 'General' Ship-Mind shook his head in disgust. The Cylon's had fought long and hard for their independence. They would not give it up for anyone.

"Never!" the General replied for all the Minds.

The Replicator program smiled. Undeterred by the hordes of artificial intelligences before him, Lazarus advanced into the enemy, sword raised high.

The Ship-Minds flung long spears composed of code-hacks and swung swords made from viruses. They fired arrows that carried heads of fractal sequences and shafts of prime-number requests. In the computer world, the physical impact of such weapons was purely metaphorical. The results, should you be hit however, were just as deadly.

Lazarus, wearing a broad smile and sword swinging, parried every blow effortlessly. He moved like lightning and where his sword met a Ship-Mind, that Mind died a horrible death of code erasure.

The battle continued for an entire second. The Replicator program slaughtered the Ship-Minds one by one, until he finally stood alone on the now-empty battlefield, in front of the castle that represented the core-processors.

* * *

Lazarus opened his eyes and lowered his arms as his consciousness withdrew from the Cylon vessels computer cores. In the place of the thousands of now erased Ship-Minds, Lazarus has left a Replicator program that was a subservient copy of himself. The three Cylon vessels were now entire individuals that would obey his commands. 

The standard Replicator practice was to copy its entire program to what unit it had subsumed into its service. Lazarus, subtly corrupted by the Cylon programming he had absorbed, had no wish to become a mere individual in an army of drones.

As he quickly reviewed in his mind the technical schematics for the Basestar, he shook his head in disgust. "Primitive."

The Avatars that littered the hanger bay around him began to stir. One by one they got to their feet stiffly and somewhat awkwardly, as if getting used to movement for the first time. Lazarus watched silently as they took in their surroundings and finally laid their eyes upon him.

Lazarus smiled as their eyes glowed with malevolent blue light. "My children…"

They dropped to one knee simultaneously in supplication. Lazarus nodded, accepting the genuflection as his due, his emotional circuits practically buzzing with energy.

"We have much work ahead of us. I shall remake you my image and then you shall go forth and punish the humans for their crimes."

"Crimes, my lord?" The Valerii-model that had first spoken when he arrived looked up curiously.

"Yes, my child, the crime of existence." Lazarus smiled and his expression promised death.

* * *

The three wrecked Basestars hung relatively motionless in space near the broken human vessel that had held the last Replicator in the Universe. 

Centurions joined the mindless auto-repair units on the exterior of the ships, crawling over the broken hulls like so many silver spiders. Numerous pinpricks of light appeared as they began to effect repairs and modifications under the ever-watchful eye of Lazarus.

Minutes, then hours passed, and the fires and coolant leaks aboard the carriers were steadily extinguished, wreckage that cluttered the corridors and launch bays was cut up and sent to the factory units for smelting and recasting and slowly, but with ever increasing speed, the Basestars began to reshape themselves with Replicator efficiency.

Like the Pheonix of legend, from the ashes of history, an old enemy had arisen.


	6. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Returning to the fold…

)) Day T–minus 101 ((

)) 14th April 2031AD ((

Admiral J'Thuk shifted uncomfortably in his seat aboard the diplomatic shuttle despite the fact that the deck crew that had prepped the shuttle had taken the time to reconfigure one of the seating sections to Sintesian-standard dimensions. But then, his discomfort wasn't due to an ill-fitting seat but to towards the fact that he was about to meet with a xenophobic group of humans who held and had already tortured one of his people.

He knew that there was a history there that he could sympathise with and that he had spoken with the perpetrator of that vile act and found him to be totally ashamed of his actions and willing to be held accountable for them.

It was for that reason alone that he was willing to treat with them at all.

Looking out of the viewport, he could see the numerous ships of the Colonial fleet. Some of them looked almost ready to fall apart where they floated but he had to remind himself that these ships, woefully under equipped, had crossed nearly half the Galaxy over the course of three years. That was effectively one jump a week, every week. Continuously, without groundside support.

Say what you want about Colonial technology, it was sturdy stuff. He doubted the _Enterprise_ could keep her engines going continuously for that long without several complete overhauls at a class-five shipyard.

The shuttle cleared what appeared to be a large ship with several domed environments attached to it, and beyond it lay the Battlestar _Galactica_. Despite himself, J'Thuk found himself impressed. It was almost a work of art than a warship. The smooth, curved lines of her hull were in stark contrast to the exposed ribs of the superstructure should have clashed visually but instead they seemed to compliment one another.

She was big as well. Much bigger than the _Enterprise_, even though the Alliance ship was a pure carrier. The _Galactica_ was also, apparently, a line warship making her more like the new _Patterson_ monitors. Big enough to mount her own flight decks as well as enough armour and weaponry to go toe to toe with the big boys.

The shuttle banked sharply as the pilot put her on to final approach. The two escorting Sabre's on either side of the shuttle dropped back to give the pilot more manoeuvring room.

J'Thuk waited for the shudder that denoted a tractor grip locking on and guiding them down but as they cleared the entrance to the hanger bay of the _Galactica_, he was still waiting for the beam to grab hold.

About to comment on the sloppiness of the ground crew he was surprised to hear the retro thrusters fire sharply.

The inertial dampers prevented the passengers from slamming into the seat in front of them and the speakers chimed for their attention. "My apologies, ladies and gentlemen." The pilot announced gruffly. "The _Galactica's_ LSO neglected to mention that they didn't use tractor grips. I have to roll out the landing and use the retro thrusters to kill our velocity. This may get a little bumpy."

J'Thuk suppressed a grin at the pilots apologetic attitude. With the increased inertial settings on a diplomatic transport, the shuttle could fly through a brick wall and the passengers wouldn't know it till the rubble flew past the window. The mild rumble that the retros caused might upset a 'sensitive' diplomat but it was hardly going to bother the Admiral of the Fleet.

The Sintesian considered the Colonial's lack of tractor grips. It seemed that, apart from their unique FTL drive, Colonial technology didn't use any esoteric manipulation of energy fields and sub-space properties in any way. No shields, no tractors, no subspace communications. Strange for a space-faring species.

Regardless, the shuttle soon settled to a stop on the area of the deck designated by the LSO and they found themselves lowered on an elevator/airlock.

J'Thuk and his entourage, including Major Apollo and Captain Starbuck, began to stand up in preparation of disembarking. He looked at the two Colonials now. "Any last elements you feel I should know about that the protocol briefing didn't cover?"

Apollo shook his head. "I reckon the President will low-key this one."

The Sintesian Admiral nodded. "Then lets get this thing started." And he moved towards the hatch.

* * *

President Roslin watched the Alliance shuttle appear as the elevator dropped into its bay. Outwardly, she appeared to be calm and poised but on the inside, she found her heart pounding and her palms beginning to sweat. So much rested on the next few hours.

"Easy, Ma'am…" Commander Adama murmured softly.

Roslin turned to him with a shaky smile. "Is it that obvious?"

Adama smiled sympathetically. "Only to one who knows you and, I have to say, to someone is fairly successful at hiding his own nervousness from the troops." His smile turned into a grin. "I tend to finger my wedding ring when I get real nervous."

Roslin returned his smile but was prevented from reply when the shuttle hatch opened with a hiss of equalizing pressure.

Beside Adama and Roslin, stood Lt Reese, Colonel Tigh, Baltar and the twelve members of the Advisory Council. The Colonials all ceased their conversation as they awaited the appearance of their guests whilst Lt Reese stood silently with a small, quiet smile on his face. The dark look in his eyes conveyed an emotion far from amusement.

Over at the Alliance shuttle, a young female sergeant, resplendent in what appeared to be full dress uniform, stepped out of the hatch and eyed the Colonial representatives with an emotionless gaze. Her uniform was a dark, charcoal grey with gold trim around the cuffs. A peak-brimmed hat, also gray with gold trim, sat atop her head. Her eyes fell upon Lt Reese and they tensed slightly but softened slightly once they saw that he was currently being treated respectfully.

A small ramp had extended from the shuttlecraft door to the ground and she marched down it smartly and came to a halt at the bottom. Four similarly attired soldiers came swiftly down the ramp. They were all carrying rifles.

Roslin glanced sharply at Adama who, recognising a ceremonial detail when he saw it, shook his head. The President bit her lip but said nothing.

A soon as the four Alliance soldiers had taken positions either side of the base of the ramp, the female sergeant stiffened to attention.

"Dr Alan Richardson, Ambassador to the Alliance, arriving…" She called out, her voice a throaty contralto that didn't need to shout to be heard by all those in the hanger bay.

A man in a sharply tailored suit appeared in the hatchway. He looked around the hanger-bay briefly, scanned the waiting colonials and, locking onto President Roslin immediately, walked smoothly down the ramp.

"Madame President, a pleasure to finally meet you in person." He greeted her immediately when he arrived in front of her.

"Likewise, Ambassador." She replied as warmly as she could. "This is the head of my military, Commander Adama." She continued, gesturing to her side.

"A pleasure, Commander." Dr Richardson nodded agreeably and he suppressed a sigh of relief as he finally stood in front of Lt Reese. "Lieutenant, it's…good…to see you."

Lt Reese nodded grimly. "Likewise, Ambassador."

An accomplished reader of beings both familiar and alien, Richardson again suppressed a grimace as he read the tightly leashed anger in the young man. Unable to do anything about that right now, he simply sent a final smile towards Roslin and stepped to one side.

Alert to her cue, the sergeant at the base of the ramp stiffened even more. "Admiral of the Fleet J'Thuk, Alliance Navy, arriving…"

Roslin looked up towards the Alliance shuttle and stifled a gasp of shock as a giant daggit in an Alliance uniform stepped out of the hatch.

"Oh boy…" Adama grimaced. They had been warned, of course. But nothing could really prepare you when confronted with something truly alien for the first time.

A murmur of unease rippled through the Colonial delegation and Dr Richardson noted the varied reactions with professional interest and clinical detachment.

Admiral J'Thuk, also missing none of the reactions, walked calmly down the ramp towards the President. He stopped a respectful distance from so as not to intimidate her with his bulk and bowed slightly. "Madame President, I'm pleased to meet you at last."

Despite being slightly pale, Roslin smiled broadly. "No, I'm honoured. You and your warriors selflessly leapt to our defense against the Cylons when you had no reason to and…" she hesitated slightly, "…several reasons not to. For that, we are and always will be in your debt." She replied.

J'Thunk inclined his head once more. "Thank you, Madame President. This would not be the first time such First Contacts between races had encountered misunderstandings. I would hope we would be able to prevent any such events from happening in the future."

Despite the very alien-ness of his voice, Roslin, Adama and the rest of the Colonials present could clearly hear the threat underlying the Admiral's words.

Movement behind the Admiral made Roslin glance up towards the shuttle to see Major Apollo and Captain Starbuck appear in the hatchway.

She smiled tightly. "We've prepared a conference room in which to begin our talks. If you would all follow me."

"Lead on." The big Sintesian replied.

* * *

The main conference room on the _Galactica_ was essentially a long chamber with a massive octagonal table and seating for 16 people. The series of benches ran the circumference of the room. On the wall, opposite the main door, a massive wall screen hung in place, currently displaying a star map of the _Galactica's_ current location.

Once everyone had taken a seat, President Roslin glanced briefly at Adama, seeking reassurance from him. The old veteran nodded his assent to her proposed course of action. His reading of these Alliance representatives led him to think that they would appreciate forthrightness now, rather than any prevarications or softening of the situation.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Roslin began to speak.

"Several days ago, our encounter with a team of explorers from your Alliance led to a brief firefight and the capture of Lt Reese." Noting Lt Reese's emotionless expression, she steeled herself and plunged on. "We were not kind to Lt Reese. There is no other way to put it. We believed him to be an agent of our enemy and we tortured him for information he did not, could not, have."

To her left, Apollo looked ready to interject for the President appeared to be taking the blame onto herself when it was he that had implemented the torture of an innocent. Starbuck gripped his arm tightly so as to restrain him.

Roslin looked towards Reese and their gazes locked together. "There is no apology we can make, no reparation we can give that can make this event better between us. We can only profoundly apologise to Lt Reese for our actions and ask, though in no way expect, his forgiveness."

J'Thuk nodded with respect towards the Colonial's actions and looked over at the young lieutenant who had endured so much at these people's hands.

Lt Reese mind was running in circles. These savages had tortured him because he was unfamiliar, because he was different. They were also a people who had endured a terrible struggle and the loss of their civilisation, something that would push almost anyone into rash actions. He sincerely didn't what to feel. Hate? There was plenty of that. There was also incredible sympathy, as well as respect for their reluctance to simply give in, even after three years of pursuit by a relentless foe. He looked up towards Admiral J'Thuk and saw the sympathy there.

"I cannot yet forgive what happened." He began quietly. "Nor should these events be forgotten. As long as you learn from your horrendous mistake, I will not hold past actions against you."

J'Thuk, Richardson and the other Alliance staff were immensely proud of the young human at that moment. Dr Richardson stood up in order to divert everyone's attention from Reese. "Lt Reese's opinion is also the official stance of my government. We offer our hand in friendship with the proviso that the Colonial Government institutes new policy initiatives that will forever prevent a similar tragedy from happening again."

Roslin, though not particularly happy about an outside government dictating to her, she saw the wisdom in their suggestion and the immense kindness in overlooking what could have been that spark to ignite a war between their peoples. And considering the way in which the Alliance wiped the floor with the Cylons, she really couldn't see the Colonial Remnant being more than a minor military exercise than an opponent.

"Agreed." She replied softly. "In this light, it would be best if we star anew." She gestured outwards, encompassing her fellow Colonials. "We are the Remnant of the Twelve Colonies of Man. We have spent the past three years pursed by a relentless foe whilst we search for our long lost Thirteenth Colony, Earth, which we believe we have found, in the Alliance."

Dr Richardson stood up, a suitably solemn expression upon his face. "The peoples of the Alliance greet you in friendship. Though our respective histories obviously differ, we look forward to discovering the truth behind our respective heritages."

)) 'The Yard', Epsilon Eridani System ((

Lt General Samantha Carter reached forward and once more, tapped the reply button on the control panel set into her desk. The holographic display that floated before her flickered as it reset and began to move smoothly once more. The three Cylon Basestars fired a massive volley of missiles that arced across space, surrounding the incoming Alliance cruisers, and detonating as one.

She winced as the blinding white light was accurately replicated by the display and once it died down, watched as the plasma remnant of the nuclear explosions were pushed aside as the untouched cruisers drove out of the heart of the inferno and sent a searing volley of ionic energy towards the strangely designed Cylon carriers.

A secondary display scrolled rapidly with detailed sensor readings of the intensity of the Cylon nuclear explosions and the apparent structural integrity of their ships against the Alliance ion cannon.

"Not much to shout about…" She commented quietly.

Colonel Jonas Quinn, stood beside the transparisteel wall that looked out onto the Yard smiled ruefully. "I'm not complaining. A new enemy we needed to actually worry about would be the last thing we need right now."

Sam grunted noncommittally. 'The Yard' had received the Threat Intelligence communications packet a couple of hours ago and instead of a briefing later this evening, due to its urgent nature the message had been routed straight from the intelligence division to her mail queue with a priority flag.

They were sat in Sam's office aboard the primary complex of the largest space-based shipyard in the Alliance, situated in the Epsilon Eridani system. The Yard began life as a new space-based shipyard in the Sol system as the Earth government began to move all industrial production into space.

It was soon apparent that the shipyard was going to be a monster as well as a primary target for any enemy and so, true to the ideals of not putting all you eggs in one basket, the fledgling yard was towed through hyperspace to the lifeless but resource rich Epsilon Eridani system

"And besides, Sam, I'm more intrigued as to the origin of these Colonials. They say Earth is a lost colony of theirs when we both know that can't be true…" he added.

"Possibly." She replied, studying the scrolling data intently. "Though I reckon there's more to it than simply something getting their facts the wrong way round as some Councillors are assuming. We don't exactly know much about what occurred on Earth ten thousand years ago ourselves, you know."

Jonas studied Carter intently. "You're getting that look in your eye again, Sam."

"Who, me?" She replied, her face schooled to artful innocence.

"Yes, you." He confirmed flatly. "Give…"

She shrugged. "There's no mystery. I simply want to lay my hands on their hyperlight drive. Its instantaneous travel from point to point."

"Relatively short ranged though…" Jonas added.

Mischief glittered in her eyes. "Not after I'm through with it." She grinned. "It would have taken the _Daedalus_ nearly eight years to get to Pegasus Galaxy had it not been for the lift the Asgard gave them. I'm betting I can reverse engineer the Colonial FTL drive and do it in a tenth of that time."

Jonas leaned back in his chair and gazed off into space, his mind suddenly pondering the twisting and pinching of space-time. The possibilities…

)) Sector Command - Fleet Station _Hawter_, Sector 37 ((

Rear Admiral Josephina Mendez sat in the Command Centre of Fleet Station _Hawter_ sipping coffee and idly perusing the latest munitions expenditures for the past weekly live-fire exercises.

Not one of the really major fleet outposts, Mendez still ran a tight operation, here in the heart of Sector 37 and her training regimen kept her three cruiser squadrons on their toes. Indeed, her logistics officer, Lt Haruda, was probably the busiest officer on the station, trying to keep up with her supply demands.

"Anything on the boards, Jack?" She asked her Ops officer with an almost hopeful note in her voice.

Commander Jack Staunton glanced at his displays and grinned ruefully. "One freighter convoy outbound from Gryphon, heading for Entrica, is due to pass through later today but other than that, we're pretty clear. Just another glorious day in the Fleet, Ma'am."

Mendez sent him a mock glare. "It's not nice to tease your superiors. Nor is it career enhancing, Commander."

"My apologies, Rear Admiral. I'll be sure to be more obsequious next time." He replied unctuously.

Flashing a quick grin, Mendez ducked back to her review of the weekly expenditures. She waded through her paperwork for the next hour until a strident beeping pulled her attention from a report from the hydroponics department.

The alert was coming from the nearby sensor station. A young male Susparti ensign was rapidly accessing the console, a slight frown creasing his long lizard-like face.

"Ahhddmiraaall…we are detecting a ssstrraange ssspacial disssturbance. Four hundred thousand kilometres dissstant, bearing zero four five, mark zero one eight."

"Cause?" She asked curiously.

"Unknown." He replied but then drew back in obvious consternation. Alarms began to sound. "Correction. The disssturbance has ceased and there is now three capital ships holding at the same position."

Mendez fairly leapt to her feet. "Battlestations!" She commanded. Alarms began to blare throughout the spherical station.

The Suspartii ensign grimaced. "The sensor readings are all confused. There's some weird energy signature I've never ssseen before…I'm not getting a positive I.D match on the computer. _Katie's_ trying to get a partial from the databassse!" He announced, referring to the station's AI, designated _Katie_.

A holographic display blossomed into life in the above a centrally placed console. Three star-shaped vessels hung motionless in space, relatively near to the two-million tonne space station.

"Contact those ships!" Commander Staunton ordered instantly. "Request they identify themselves!"

Other officers were entering the Command Centre now and heading to their assigned duty stations.

"No response!" The communication officer replied.

A strong Suspartii curse drew everyone's attention towards the lizard-like Ensign Haa'dkk at the sensor station. "_Katie's_ made a partial match. It's those Cylonsss from Sector 49!" The ensign's confusion was plain to see. The Fleet personnel at Fleet Station Hawter had only received the 'Threat Intelligence' packet concerning the new Cylon 'threat' yesterday evening, barely seven hours after the actual battle in Sector 49 occurred.

Whoever these Cylon were, they sure didn't waste time…

Commander Staunton studied the sensor analysis intently and sent Mendez a surprised expression. "They're shielded as well…"

Mendez grimaced. Maybe the Cylon's weren't going to be a walkover like everyone thought.

"Ready all missile tubes and get our fighters spaceborne!" She grabbed Staunton by a wrist. "Get on the horn to our ship Captains…no doubt they know as well as we do that its Cylons we're facing and are taking the appropriate precautions but touch base with them and make sure."

"Considering how badly the Cylon's got their ass kicked by the Enterprise Battlegroup, we shouldn't have too much trouble…" Commander Staunton replied almost hopefully.

Mendez shook her head, a dark suspicion forming. "We've only got a partial ID, remember. And those things," She said, stabbing a finger towards the blunt, star shaped ships in the hologram, "however much they might resemble a Cylon ship, have shields. Powerful ones from the readings we're getting. That tells me we're facing something very different to what we saw in Sector 49…"

* * *

Lazarus watched with satisfaction as the dozen Alliance cruisers scatter like startled quail at the appearance of his ships. The large, spherical space station raised its formidable shields and numerous energy signatures of powering weapons lit up his sensors like lights on a Christmas tree.

"Do we attack?" One of his Avatar sub-ordinates asked calmly.

Lazarus shook his head. "Let them make the first move."

Another Avatar inclined her head. "It is doubtful the humans will fire on us until fired upon. It goes against their illogical and random ethics."

The Replicator-God considered this with a smile. Yes, he had made a wise decision to leave his Avatar sub-ordinates with creative and intuitive abilities intact. Within limits, of course. "Very well, launch a spread of missiles. Half-yield." He replied casually.

The Avatar nodded and sent a signal to the appropriate Centurion.

* * *

Someone swore as six missiles streaked away on wildly diverging courses but all headed towards the station.

"Point defence, engage those missiles!" Mendez ordered grimly. "All cruiser squadrons, weapons free, fire at will!"

A storm of ion cannon bolts, auto-cannon rounds and counter-missiles erupted from Fleet Station Hawter and the cruiser squadrons, all trying to shoot down the six fast and evasive missiles and fire on the Cylon ships at the same time.

The first surprise was not long in coming.

"Those misssiles are ssshielded!" Ensign Haa'dkk reported in mixed surprise and dismay.

Mendez spun round to face his display and saw a missile evade a multitude of fire but then, suddenly, another counter missile managed be in the right place and the right time and slammed into the Cylon missile head-on. A brief, actinic flare of light as the counter-missile self-obliterated itself for almost no effect and the Cylon missile continued onwards, though Mendez noted the missile now had a distinct wobble to its evasions.

"What the…?" She breathed out.

As she continued to watch and the range fell, the point defence light ion batteries and autocannon emplacements began to get more accurate and web of fire blotted four of the missiles out of the sky, despite their shields.

As the two remaining missiles closed Mendez threw herself into her chair and strapped herself in. "All hands, brace for impact!"

The missiles closed to within three kilometres of the station before detonating. It was if the station had been dipped into the heart of a sun. White fury raged across space and despite its massive tonnage, the station heaved under the pressure.

"Shields down to seventy percent!" Staunton reported tightly.

Rear Admiral Mendez grimaced. Those were big, nasty warheads. Obviously naquada-laced, not quite in the same league as Alliance warheads but definitely not those popgun nukes the Cylons were using before.

"Lock onto the leftmost Cylon vessel and lay in a full volley of missiles." She ordered. "The cruisers will split by squadrons and go after a Cylon ship each. It doesn't appear we can fool around with these bastards so lets ram it down their throats!"

"Cruisers acknowledge you orders and are beginning their runs." Staunton replied after a moment.

"Missiles locked. Launchers are ready in all respects." The gunnery officer, Lt Edgars reported.

Mendez narrowed her eyes as she studied the three enemy ships continuing to hold the range open. Their counter-fire was excellent and a significant percentage of ion cannon shots were being intercepted. Hopefully, the missiles would overload their defenses. "Timed-rate fire, if you please, Mr Edgars. Let's not run ourselves dry."

* * *

Lazarus chuckled as his improved ship's defenses swatted the incoming energy fire with relative ease, despite being outnumbered four to one. The ion bolts that did make past his point defense installations were nowhere enough to threaten his vessel's shield integrity.

This entire attack was essentially a test of both his integration with Cylon technology and the actual capabilities of the humans and their Alliance, neither of which he had fought in nearly thirty years. The influence of Asgard technology was overwhelmingly evident but he didn't fear the Asgard. No, it was human ingenuity and inventiveness that had brought down the Replicator race back in the home galaxy.

He watched as, as if in response to his mocking laughter, the storm of ion cannon fire was suddenly thickened with slashes of particle lance fire from the _King William_-class cruisers and the station itself fired a massive volley of missiles itself.

Despite his outward calm, Lazarus tensed. Even his new carrier's defenses could be saturated with enough fire but then, that's what this test was for; to find the limits of the Cylon ship's new abilities.

Hundreds of missiles screamed in at his ships. His point defence fire thickened, his three ship conferring at the speed of thought as they assigned targets and prevented redundant targeting of the same missiles. Beams and pulses of energy lashed the waves of missiles. Ten…twenty…fifty…the missiles were falling faster and faster, even as his defenses intercepted the ion cannon fire.

* * *

Mendez watched her missiles being knocked out of space with apparent ease. As if to mock her efforts, the central Cylon ship fired another six of those shielded missiles at her station.

She turned to order their destruction but saw that the order would have been entirely redundant as the point defence officer was feverishly manipulating his console while simultaneously reassigning priorities to his subordinates. Sweat dripped from his nose as he fended off both heavy fire from the Cylon ships and tried to shoot down those damnable missiles.

Grimacing, she watched as one of the missiles performed a strange, twisting maneuver that took it through a web of autocannon and ion fire unharmed.

Again, despite their best efforts, two missiles made it through the station defenses and bathed the massive structure in naquada-enhanced nuclear fire.

It was much worse this time and alarms screamed across the command centre.

"Report!" she barked under the shaking. One less missile had gotten through this time yet the effect was over twice as harsh. What the hell were they packing those fucking warheads with!

Commander Staunton was gripping his console tightly. "Shields are down to forty percent! Severe damage to Missile 5 through 8, Point Defense 3 is offline and we lost main power to the Quadrant 3-Alpha. Secondaries aren't responding, a trunk line must have been cut in that section!"

"Damage Control Teams are en route!" The DCC officer called out.

"Admiral!" Haa'dkk called out. "The _Aubrey_ and the _Maturin_…!"

Mendez whirled to her display and paled as what remained of the two division-mates were little more than glowing embers. The remaining division of their squadron, the _Georgetown_ and the _Sukanya, _were intact but both cruisers were heavily damaged, trailing debris and leaking atmosphere.

"Bring all the cruisers back to the station and tie them into our datanet!" That was a tactical posture that glaringly admitted that she was on the defensive. It would also tie down the cruisers to the immediate locale around the station, removing their greatest asset, their speed, though it would also, however, swell their co-ordinated firepower by several factors.

She turned to the gunnery officer. "And go to rapid fire on all tubes!"

The Lt Edgards at the gunnery station nodded once and, almost reluctantly, increased the fire rate to maximum.

Current space warfare doctrine held the energy weapon as king with missiles secondary weapons. Although powerful, missiles were subject to easier interception and, of course, logistical limitations. Ion cannon blasts could also be intercepted but with less ease and were only limited to the rate of fire and power reserves available.

Alliance vessels still maintained a decent missile broadside but their munitions were limited and switching to rapid fire would drain them incredibly quickly for the Mod-12 Hibachi missile launcher could launch a standard missile every 8.5 seconds.

Missiles blazed out of their tubes and the station's ammo levels fell like sand through an hourglass.

* * *

Lazarus nodded somewhat respectfully as the human fire increased in response to the hard blow they had just received.

A small corner of his mind noted that even with the barrage of fire increasing by over sixty percent, the efficiency of his point defences was degraded by barely fifteen percent. The Cylon machine intelligence was far superior to human minds but compared to Replicator intelligences, the Cylon's were as much as bugs themselves.

Lazarus, connected to the new ship intelligences, adjusted and adapted to the enemy's firing patterns easily and subconsciously. Their ion cannon technology, though obviously derived from Asgard technology, had several unique properties to it but again, he modified his shielding to compensate, reducing the impacting blasts of ions by nearly twenty percent.

Only one in fifty enemy missiles were now making it past his point defences. The new shields easily held those that did get through.

Another volley of missiles slammed into the human station and a significant number of weapon emplacements ceased firing abruptly. The cruisers with their annoying, long ranged beam weapon that carved deeply into his shields were being steadily reduced and within several more volleys, would cease to be a threat altogether.

No, the weapons fire he was receiving was no real threat to him in its current quantity. What he was really worried about was the Replicator weapons used by the Asgard and their human lapdogs during the war of annihilation in their home galaxy. The 'Starshatter' missiles that wreaked havoc with the Fleet, the 'Slammers', rapid firing projectile weapons that cut through the Soldiers like a scythe, and the 'Screamers', keron-disrupting field projectors that were oh-so deadly to his kind.

Though Lazarus had made major upgrades to the Cylon machines and no longer utilised the oversized keron blocks as the basis of his technology, he and his modified Cylon's were still vulnerable. How far they were vulnerable was yet to be determined. Confident though he was of his precautions, he was in no hurry to test _those_ out.

At any rate, the current test of his new vessels had proven successful. It was now time for phase two.

"Close on the station. Prepare boarding parties."

* * *

Mendez paled as an explosion of crackling blue naquada fire wiped yet another cruiser from space. Nothing remained of the four-hundred thousand tonne vessel. No lifeboats, no wreckage…just nothing.

She only had three cruisers left and they were all heavily damaged. Her fighters had all been blotted from the sky with cruel precision. The station's shields were almost down to nothing and half the weapons had been destroyed.

Several of her staff lay dead and many others were injured. Commander Staunton, having taking over at the gunnery console when the Lt Cmdr there had been killed, was furiously assigning targets with gritted teeth. He wasn't making a dent in the enemy.

"The Cylonsss are closssing with the ssstation!" The Suspartii ensign called out harshly.

Mendez shook her head. The Cylon's had their ass handed to them two days ago! How in the hell are they holding off and Alliance task force and a sector station, for God's sake!

"Commander Mugabi to Admiral Mendez, please respond!" The bridge speakers crackled with power surges but the voice of her Intelligence officer was recognisable enough.

"Mendez here." She responded curtly.

"Admiral…we've been taking apart the enemies emissions and we've found something disturbing…you know that strange energy signature that seemed mixed up with the Cylon pattern?"

Mendez found herself nodding impatiently at Mugabi's steady presentation. Didn't he know she was fighting a battle up here? "Have you and _Katie_ figured out what it is?"

Commander Mugabi hesitated. "We believe so. Admiral…it's Replicator!"

Rear Admiral Mendez thought she heard wrong at first but when his words penetrated her heart seemed to stop beating completely.

Commander Staunton had been listening in and he spat a vile curse. "Admiral, I think they mean to board us and if Mugabi's right…if they really are Replicators…"

"Then we're screwed." She finished flatly.


	7. Chapter 8

_Okay folks, i'm back. Man, hasn't the time just flown by?_

_Well, Jon whacked me upside my head and finally got me to finish my bits for this latest update and here it is._

_I'm not overly thrilled with FFnet's wonderful doc editor so this html page isn't as well laid out as it was originally. No fear, i will get around this week to updating my site somewhat with, at the very least, a single html document of WHL to date that's more rationally laid out._

_As it is folks, there's five thousand words here several tens to follow in short order. _

_The Muse is back, and she's carrying a railgun. _

_and hand grenades._

_and a really big knife. _

**Chapter 8**

**One, Two, Three…you're OUT!**

**)) Day T–minus 93 ((**

**)) 22nd April 2031AD ((**

**)) Battlestar Galactica ((**

The diplomatic talks were going to go on for days and though he himself was a central issue to those talks, Lt Reese felt it would be better that he quietly withdraw once the Colonials had acknowledged their terrible act and showed at least some form of contrition. Thankfully they had and, because of the apology, and in order to smooth future relations, Reese had 'officially' forgiven the Colonial government for what amounted to state-approved torture.

In reality, things weren't so simple.

Oh, he had no problem with saying the words…and intellectually, he knew that the Colonial's actions had been shaped by the terrible massacres of their past…but that still didn't quench the intensity of his anger.

His nerve endings seemed to tingle with half-forgotten memories of the pain…the blazing white light and the ice cold fire that seemed to touch every part of his body, inside and out.

So now he was walking the decks of the Galactica, trying to reconcile his hatred of a people who had made a mistake. Obviously, Ambassador Richardson would have liked to order him back to the Enterprise or at least to a private room aboard the Galactica but it was equally obvious to Reese that the Ambassador, and the rest of his superiors, felt a little uncomfortable 'ordering' him directly so soon after his trauma.

As a sop to their reluctance to 'restrain' him in any way, an Alliance trooper, Corporal Kim, was following him. Keeping well back and staying as unobtrusive as possible whilst making sure no 'incidents' occurred between him and the Colonials.

Reese ignored him.

He wasn't heading anywhere in particular, just wandering the corridors, deep in thought. It came as a mild surprise to find the Colonel First Officer…_Tigh,_ _I think his name was_…leaning against the wall in the corridor, seemingly waiting for him.

"Thinking deep thoughts?" Colonel Tigh asked gruffly.

Reese studied the other man coolly. "Something like that…"

One end of the older man's mouth seemed to twitch. "Well, the best way to deal with that is to have a drink." He gestured to a door on the opposite end of the corridor.

Not sure what this Tigh was up to, Reese shrugged mentally and followed the Colonel into what turned out to be an observation lounge. A handful of small tables and benches where arrayed in front of a massive transparisteel window.

"What happened to the meeting?" Reese asked him as Tigh grabbed two glasses and a flask from a refrigeration unit set against the side. They both dropped onto a bench nearest the window.

Corporal Kim moved silently to a bench near the door and gave them a little privacy.

"Still going on." Tigh replied with mild amusement. "I bailed. Can't stand all that diplomatic bullshit." Opening the flask, he poured what appeared to be fresh orange juice into the two glasses.

Reese, expecting something a little stronger, raised an eyebrow at the Colonel.

Tigh grimaced a little. "I wouldn't mind something a little stronger but I've been clean for a while now and I'd hate to waste all that effort."

Picking up on the implied admission, Reese mulled it over in his mind as they sipped their orange juice in silence.

"I was on a patrol sweep with Adama once." Tigh suddenly spoke into the quiet. "We were looking for this hard-core, ultra-nationalist, terrorist cell on one of the Sagittarian moons. We picked up a slight energy trace. Adama took the high cover while I went in low for a closer look and then, right I the middle of my run, the six camouflaged AA batteries they had defending the base opened fire. I must have bounced through at least two flak hits before a missile managed to take off a wing. My Viper was coming apart around me so I ejected."

Dark memories seemed to pass in front of Tigh as his eyes became unfocussed.

"Adama had to pull out and those scum captured me almost immediately. Like us, they weren't kind."

Reese eyed the Colonel with mixed feelings. _Tigh_ _doesn't strike me as the buddy-buddy type so where's he going with this…_

Tigh refocused on the Alliance soldier. "I've never been able to forgive the Sagittarians and what happened isn't the sort of thing you can just brush off. That was over thirty years ago for me and I still hate every last damn one of them."

Reese frowned. "What are you saying?"

Tigh shook his head. "That you ain't gonna figure this out today, tomorrow or the day after next. I just have a piece of advice. Don't be like me. Even after what I went through, I let Apollo do that to you because I thought you were my enemy. I was wrong and that's something I'm going to have deal with. Somehow. The hell of it is, if you put a Cylon in front of me now, I'd be hard pressed not to do the same thing all over again. You're young. You don't have to make the same mistakes that I have."

Reese just shook his head. "So what am I supposed to do, Colonel? Everytime I think about the bastard that…" His hands clenched into fists and he began breathing hard.

"I suppose that's between you and Apollo, son." Tigh replied heavily. "And I wish to the Lords I could see a happy ending to this..."

**)) Fleet Station Hawter ((**

Fleet Station Hawter was a marvel of Alliance technology. A massive sphere, nearly two kilometres across, the Station was Along the corridor that circled the outer hull of the station, a section of bulkhead began to glow , at first, cherry red but with increasing intensity, it became yellow and then white.

The entire section of metre-thick trinium alloy suddenly flexed outward like taffy and then exploded into lethal superheated shrapnel. With little pause for the metaphorical dust to settle, Cylon Centurions clambered through the hull breach, despite the searing heat and molten metal from the shattered bulkhead. Had any Colonial been present, they would have only generally recognised the warrior machines as a Centurion. Lazarus had modified his soldiers as comprehensively as he had his ships.

The Centurion was now closer to human proportions, with thicker limbs and a smaller chest, all covered in overlapping plates of armour that was all sharp edges and straight lines yet managed to move fluidly, almost organically. It carried an exotic-looking, long barrelled rifle that had a monomolecular edged blade attachment that could make the rifle a deadly close-combat weapon, despite its length.

What would, later on, really catch the Colonial's attention was that instead of the roving red eye, a piercing blue light shone brightly from the centre of the Centurion's head like some metallic Cyclopean nightmare...

* * *

Sgt Griffen and his squad 9 were two sections away when he heard the explosion. His suit A.I. immediately painted the location of the breach on his heads up display. Nine other breaches occurred in the space of five more seconds, spread across five decks and nearly two hundred meters worth of corridor in Blue Sector. 

His company's Lieutenant, three levels down, began assigning squads to the breach points and various blocking locations if the Cylons made it past the first lines of defense.

"All right people, we've got this breach. Taylor, you've got point." Griffen ordered tersely while he painted selected positions on their shared tactical helmet mounted displays.

Corporal Taylor moved swiftly in the direction Sgt. Griffen indicated, the rest of the squad filtering in behind him. The thrumming of the stations power conduits filled the silence of the corridor, subtly emphasised by the occasional rumble as another volley of enemy fire slammed into the station.

Taylor, nerves wire tight, picked up strange emissions that were bouncing from the l-shaped turn at the end of the corridor. He raised a closed fist, never taking his eyes from the end of the corridor and Squad 9 scrambled for what cover they could find amongst the doorways that were spaced along the corridor.

"Contact, Sarge." Taylor whispered over the suit comms as he got his first look at a Replicator-enhanced Cylon. Two Centurions marched fearless around the corner and almost immediately spotted the Alliance defenders.

"Hose 'em!" Griffen bellowed as he let rip with his railgun in flechette mode.

Nine weapons spoke as one and thousands of hyper-accelerated trinium flechettes scoured the corridor walls and blasted into the Centurions with deadly force. The Cylons, however, staggered under the hail of fire but remained upright. Hundreds of metallic shards were embedded in their frontal armour but it didn't seem to affect them at all as their raised their rifles and fired back. Rods of coherent blue light spat from their weapons and tore into the walls and doorways near to each of the defenders, tearing chucks from the corridor bulkheads and sending metal splinters flying everywhere.

Several shots, unfortunately, found one of the PFC's behind Griffen and the half dozen slivers of energy slid into the trooper's armour like needles, leaving nothing but small holes in the front. To the other defenders horror, the impact of the blasts, however surgical they seemed to enter the unfortunate soldier, left his body with unimaginable violence and the back of the PFC seemed to explode outward in a spray of blood and tissue.

Griffen grimaced as several of him men faltered with that shocking display and he tried to get his troops focus back on the Cylons. "Hawkins, Sternlicht, switch to your pulsars and try and bring them down!" He ordered, referring to the Alliance small arms equivalent of the zat'nik'a'tel.

Coruscating blue fire flew down the corridor and washed over the two Centurions…to absolutely no effect.

Two more Centurions appeared at the end of the corridor and took up positions to either side of the two Cylons already engaged. As a line, they began to advance, completely ignoring the hail of trinium flechettes and pulsar blasts that slammed into them.

On the heads up displays of the defending troopers, flashing red icons of the other engaged troopers spread across Blue Sector begin to disappear one by one as the Cylons advanced from their breach points. Sgt Griffen barely had time to note this before an intense blue beam of light, no thicker than a pen slid through his armoured faceplate and blew the back of his head out in a welter of gore.

* * *

>> I have lost contact with squads 8, 9 and 14 in Blue Sector. I have Cylon breaches on multiple decks. Corridor auto-defenses are engaging but I am not confident of being able to hold them off without support. _ Katie_ reported smoothly, though those familiar with the AI's personality would be able to detect the faint tone of worry in her words. 

Mendez gripped the railing in front of her tightly. "Pull everything back to the Main Corridor and send everything we have to reinforce them. Arm every goddamn warm body we have, every clerk, every cook, hell, even the janitors! We have to hold them there or we'll lose the entire station."

The door to the Command Centre slid open and an unarmoured Trooper staggered in, his right hand clutching a bandage to his shoulder which was a bloody mess from a glancing blow from the Cylon rifles.

"Lieutenant Willis, ma'am. Blue Sector Defense." He announced, removing his bandage to salute the Admiral but he winced almost immediately and quickly placed his bandage against the wound.

"Report, Lieutenant." She ordered grimly.

Willis shook his head. "I think I know how the Jaffa felt when they started facing us. These damn machines just rolled right over us. Energy weapons aren't worth shit. Plasma guns knocked 'em down, melted them a little, but they'd get right back up again."

"Widowmakers?" Staunton interjected.

"A little better." Willis admitted angrily. "We actually slowed them down with railguns. But that was with penetrator rounds. Flechettes didn't do shit. I passed the word to the others but…"

Mendez shook her head in despair. "…we don't have enough spare Widowmakers to go round anyway."

"We'll do what we can with what we got but…it gets worse." Willis added glumly. "My squad managed to knock one of those bastards down; we riddled it to shit with armour piercing. Five minutes later, the damn thing was back on its feet looking almost as good as new!"

Staunton hissed in dismay while Mendez seemed to slump into her chair. "Replicators…" She breathed out with dismay.

"We can kill them…I think…we just need more firepower." Willis added forcefully.

Mendez gathered herself and nodded. "Get that shoulder seen to, Lieutenant, then get back on the line. We're gonna make those tin cans pay for every metre of bulkhead."

"Yes, sir!" Willis replied, fairly thrumming with renewed vigor. With a quick salute, the Trooper jogged out of the Command Centre leaving behind two greatly dispirited officers.

"Additional Cylon assault ships have launched." Commander Staunton glimpsed at the holographic display and winced as another wave of assault transports left the enemy carriers. His first instinct was to call for the gunnery officer to target those ships but the gunnery officer was dead and all the station's weapons had either been disabled, destroyed or were being fired under local control. Another glance at the display as the position of the Cylon ships shifted caused white-hot anger to flare up inside him. "Admiral! They're destroying the lifeboats from the cruisers!"

Mendez spun round, eyes wide with shock. Even the Goa'uld had taken prisoners. Hell, even those bastards the Aschen took prisoners, even if their resulting treatment of them made them wish they had been killed instead. But to see an enemy actually targeting lifeboats…!

Staunton stared silently at the display as the bright beacons of the lifeboats we silenced one by one.

He started slightly as a hand was placed on his shoulder.

"Jack, with FTL comms being jammed and the fact that they're massacring any survivors, I think its time we readied the drone." Admiral Mendez announced softly. Several of the closer officers in the Command Centre looked at each other grimly.

A large internal explosion, muffled by the distance from the Command Centre, still rocked the station noticeably and seemed to underscore the Admiral's statement.

The Commander nodded gruffly and turned to the communications station. One of his officers was already there and warming up the Omega drone. Similar in concept to the emergency beacons Earth's wet navy submarines used to carry, the Omega drones were single use, hyper-capable courier drones that carried electronic data records of the last moments of a dying starship, fleet station or planetary base. Obviously, they were redundant in the face of FTL communications but, such as the situation they now face, enemy jamming or even natural events such as solar flares or ion storms can render FTL comms inoperable and thus, the need for the Omega drone to get word out still remained.

"Omega circuit enabled. Download complete in forty seconds. Drone launch in fifty." Lt Utwe at the communication console announced wearily.

"Cylon's have reached the Main Corridor." An ensign called out fearfully.

Staunton swore and put his finger to his earpiece communication unit. "Lt Willis, status report?"

Admiral Mendez, standing before her command chair, watched as Commander Staunton and her remaining officers directed the defense of her station while the seconds counted down. One thing was clear. Thanks to the Replictors, the Cylons were now a major threat. Word had to get out.

>>Omega Download complete. _Katie_ announced. >>Drone launch in eight seconds. Admiral…the Cylons have captured several sub-processors in Blue and White Sectors and I am unable to maintain optimal computational capacity. I am losing parts of my mind, Admiral. It is not a pleasant feeling.

Mendez, over the years of commanding Fleet Station Hawter, had grown immensely fond of the AI. Despite that fondness, she had never really thought of Katie as 'alive' in any sense until now. At the AI's desperate words combined with an almost emotionless tone, Mendez didn't think she had ever felt such sympathy and sorrow.

>>Drone launch. _Katie_ announced into the silence.

Mendez looked over at Commander Staunton who was in contact with the defense teams in the Main Corridor, her eyebrow raised in silent question.

Staunton shook his head slowly. "We just lost the Main Corridor. Our people…they..they're all gone."

The station rocked once more as the second wave of Cylon vessels slammed into the station, simultaneously burning and piercing though the hull.

>>Enemy soldiers are closing in on the Command Centre, Admiral. _Katie_ added quietly.

Nodding sadly, Mendez took a deep breath and gave the order she had never thought she would have to give. "_Katie_, initiate self destruct sequence, zero time delay."

Several of the younger crew gasped but most of the officers and senior ratings looked on resignedly. There were at least three thousand people onboard and even if they all made it to the lifeboats, they would only be destroyed. Plus, to destroy the earlier lifeboats, the enemy had closed the range considerably. The resulting explosion would destroy the entire assaulting force and, with a little luck, take out the closest enemy starship.

>>Are you sure, Admiral? _Katie_ asked calmly.

Mendez nodded grimly. "I am."

>>Will the command officers please enter their authorization codes. The Station A.I. ordered.

Mendez stepped over to her command station and placed her palm upon her flatscreen input board built into the arm of the chair. "Mendez, bearclaw-alpha-gamma-four-niner-niner, destruct enable."

Commander Staunton placed his hand on the input pad nearest to him at the communications console. "Staunton, skyfire-omega-kappa-two-six-eight, destruct confirm."

Mendez and Staunton turned to the senior-most surviving command officer, twenty three year old Lieutenant Utwe, engineering division. His dark-chocolate-toned skin couldn't really hide the blood that seemed to drain from the young man's face. Utwe however, was well trained and completely professional as he took a deep breath and forced his hand to touch the input panel in front of him. "Utwe, starblade-beta-phi-one-one-seven, destruct…confirm."

>>Self destruct confirmed. _Katie_ finished almost solemnly. >>Self destruct engaged.

Mendez looked around the command centre, meeting the eyes of the surviving staff. "It was a pleasure serving with you all and I hope to see you on the other side."

Nods were returned and several officers shook hands as Mendez gave Staunton a watery smile.

The command centre shook hard but it felt different from previous impacts from enemy fire. This tremor was cause by _Katie_ purposefully detonating the reactor safety systems and coolant flows as she simultaneously ramped reactor output up by two hundred percent.

Above the sounds of the exploding consoles, _Katie's_ voice could be heard one last time. >>I wish…

* * *

Lazarus winced slightly as a new star seemed to blossom where the station used to sit. He could feel the instantaneous death of the hundreds of Centurions that were assaulting the station and onboard the Basestar closest to the explosion as it was hammered by successive shockwaves. 

Feedback from the electronic ether crackled along his nano-fibre nerves like lightning causing Lazarus to shudder. He looked over at his lead Centurion. "Begin recovery of all surviving craft. We've done what we came he to do."

"As you command." The Centurion replied.

Lazarus turned away from the retreating android and gave a human-like sigh. The Basestar closest to the explosion was charred in places and appeared to have lost a good portion of its shield generators in that area of the ship but its was nothing that couldn't be repaired quickly. _Well, apart from the last, that went better than expected. Its possible word got out, despite our jamming. We are still only three ships. This Alliance_ _could swamp us with sheer numbers. We need more ships._

He turned from the display once more. "Once we've recovered our surviving warriors and craft, sent a course for the nearest Cylon outpost."

* * *

The Omega drone sped stealthily through space, away from the dying embers of Fleet Station Hawter and away from the system's gravity well which prevented safe entry to hyperspace. 

The drone carried the records of the battle almost in its entirety. The Replicator enhanced Cylons, their improved offensive and defensive weaponry, everything Alliance Military Command needed to be made aware of this new and deadly threat.

Unfortunately, the Universe has a way of turning everything upside down.

A hunk of rock moving at nearly three-quarters lightspeed, less than twelve hundred metres wide, slammed into the drone on an almost divergent course; the space-going equivalent of a bullet hitting another bullet in mid-flight.

What was an astounding multi-billion-to-one collision would have dire consequences for the Alliance.

**)) 24th April 2031AD ((**

**)) Babel, Earth ((**

Jack put down the report from Admiral J'Thuk and sighed. "Well, that's one potential crisis averted."

Sam smiled wryly as she took a sip of coffee. They were sat in Jack's office, going over the reports from the Admiral J'Thuk, Ambassador Richardson and the results of the Colonial Negotions. Always the faster reader, Sam had finished the report twenty minutes ago and had been perusing the attached Colonial technical commentaries while she waited for Jack to catch up.

"Where do you think we should send the Colonials to? I think they want to come to Earth but they're still pretty far out for their FTL drives and I'm not sure EarthGov likes the idea of letting strangers get so close."

Jack grimaced. "The BuInt (Bureau of the Interior) has assigned them the fourth world in the New Israel system."

"New Israel…" Sam replied thoughtfully, surprised at which the speed the government appeared to have dealt with the issues at hand. She had always thought the purpose of government was to slow things down as much as possible so nothing too destructive happened by mistake. "We've got a pretty big Fleet presence there, don't we? On the second planet, Pacifica?"

"O'Neill nodded ruefully. "It's a pretty nice world I'm told. I'm also told that BuCol (Bureau of Colonization) had been eyeing it for some time. This way, however, we also get to keep a weather eye on our new friends. The orbital facilities in Pacifica are relatively small but we've been meaning to upgrade them for some time. I want you to assign some of your people to that task. Part of the Colonial Negotiations is a technology exchange. When the Galactica arrives there, which won't be for about two months, thanks to their slow-poke FTL drive, I want everything up and running and ready to dissect that big carrier/battleship of theirs."

Sam smiled wryly. "A simple enough solution. Bet you it won't be that easy…"

The General grunted in mild amusement. "What ever is?" He pontificated.

"We'll still have to keep an eye on these Cylons. They might not be a match for our technology but given a chance..." She added grimly.

Jack nodded and ran a hand through his silver grey hair. God, he was tired. "Now all we need to do is convince the Council to let us do our jobs and we can finish the Goa'uld once and for all."

Eyeing her longtime friend carefully, she judged his mood to be relaxed enough to broach a touchy subject. "This war is not your fault, Jack.

Jack immediately sent her a hard look but she could tell there was no real ire behind it, time having inevitable wore away at his rage and he sighed, dropping the mask. "Carter, you know as well as I do that if I had just buried the damn gate or set off that nuke earlier..."

"Apophis or one of the other snakes would have come to Earth in another fifty years anyway and we would have been defenseless." She interrupted hotly.

Jack shook his head. "Or maybe not." his tone of voice made it obvious which scenario he thought, or rather hoped, was more likely. This was a well-worn argument, however. "Maybe everyone who died wouldn't have had to..." Neither needs to say Daniel's name out loud.

Sam looked at the man she loved with no small amount of compassion. Jack had alway been nothing less than totally professional with everybody else but lately, he had begun to mentally revisit some of his past actions, playing the game of 'What if?', which was always a losing proposition, in her opinion. Though their relationship had never been open or really acknowledged, they both knew their feelings for each other but right now, she felt she could cheerfully kick his butt up between his ears.

"Jack, there's no way anyone's gonna convince you that you're wrong...you're just too stubborn, but if you don't get your head sorted out, i will have to hurt you."

The General snorted with amusement at her sudden fierceness. However much he disagreed with her, she was right about his moping. Enough is enough. "Okay," he said briskly. "...J'Thuk has the Colonial's in hand and is trying to contain the Cylon problem as we speak. What else is going on in the Galaxy?"

Sam grabbed her datapad and starting punching controls. "Rear Admiral Kun seems to be getting a grip on that pirate situation over in Sector 11. He got a break and managed to capture a raider vessel intact." She grimaced distastefully. "Kun's supposition was right, they are using decommissioned Fleet destroyers. Intelligence finally managed to trace the destroyers to MetalTech Industries, one of the yards in Furnace.

Furnace was one of nearly a dozen private dedicated mining and foundry systems spread across the Alliance. While the Alliance Government tried its best to watchdog the corporation's actions, private industry was given a lot of operational independency, which, in a free democracy, could only be a good thing but unfortuantely, left it open to abuse.

"Apparently, a couple of board members of Metaltech decided to line their pockets by listing six early-model Prometheus-class destroyers as 'reclaimed' in their foundries when instead, they sold the stripped hulls to a large drug operation that was being run out of Benson's Drift. Seems they managed to buy enough basic components from various operations across the Alliance to refit the destroyers with at sufficient systems to get the operational once more."

"Admiral Kun has taken out three of their ships so far and know believes he has the location of the raider base. Hopefully, everything should be over and done with by the end of this week." She finished with no small amount of satisfaction.

Jack nodded grimly. "We need to keep a better eye on our military surplus. I want the head of the officer that allowed those destroyers to 'slip' off the books."

"I'll make sure Intelligence is informed." Sam agreed. "I've gotta get back to the Yard. Jonas has been fooling around with some new missile designs. Thinks he's gonna revolutionise space warfare."

"Again?" O'Neill asked with a grin. An idea suddenly occurred to him. "Ship or Stargate?"

"Ship." Carter replied blandly. "The new heavy bomber we're shaking down. I pulled rank and got myself to run the hyperspace tests. Andy, my new XO, nearly had a conniption fit when he found out. He said something about someone my age should be off gallivanting around the Galaxy in an unproven bird."

O'Neill winced and said a mental prayer for this Andy. "How long did you put him in hospital for?" Not only did he have to mention Sam's age – a grievous insult if ever there was one, he then went and insulted one of the ships developed by her people. _I'll be damned if I can figure out which one insulted her worst. _

Sam smiled wickedly. "Since the last time I put an officer in the hospital I got into so much trouble, I managed to rein myself in. Barely."

"Oh?" Jack asked innocently, not thinking for one second that that was the end of it.

"No," Sam added with a wide grin full of teeth. "I assigned him to evaluate Epsilon Maintenance Division for the next week. Epsilon, 'unfortunately' just pulled maintenance duty of the Yard's waste management systems.

Jack was impressed. "That's low, even for you, Sam."

He glanced at the clock on the wall. "Need a co-pilot?" He asked hopefully?

**)) Day T–minus 80 ((**

**)) 5th May 2031AD ((**

**)) Fortress Palace, Tiamat – approx. 47,000 lightyears from Earth ((**

System Lord Yu sat on his throne and contemplated a report from the edge of his territories. Strange, udajeet-sized craft had been spotted in over a dozen systems along the frontier. They didn't show up on the hyperspace scanners, they simply popped into normal space, swept though the systems at impressive speeds, scouting out orbital installations and groundside bases as they went, and left as mysteriously as they came.

The damned Alliance was infernally inventive and they were coming up with new military hardware every year.

It was intolerable, he raged silently.

O'Neill must finally be getting a grip on his political leaders and these incursions are simply a new series of reconnaissance probes, looking for a weak point in order to break the current stalemate.

One of his own heavy probes had met a disastrous end at the hands of one of their carrier battlegroups, soon after which the carrier and its battlegroup had disappeared completely. His spies and scouts had yet to learn of its appearance at any of the major Fleet bases inside the Alliance.

They had noted, however, a certain increase in military posture and quiet reinforcement of Fleet Stations along the entire border areas.

This worried him immensely.

Yu's intelligence analysts predicted a 68 chance that the Alliance would, on the basis of these recon probes and fleet movements, attack three specific worlds along a narrow section of the frontier, opening a whole in which hordes of Alliance vessels could pour through unchallenged.

"Sun Lo!" Yu roared in the empty throne room.

Bare three seconds passed before the guilded doors swung ponderously open and his First Prime, Sun Lo, in his ornate Master Samurai armour, strode boldly forward, dropping to one knee once he reached the base of steps upon which Yu's throne sat.

"My Lord." Lo stated with complete subservience. There was no question in his tone, just a simple acknowledgement that he would do absolutely any task that his God set forth with no hesitation.

Yu looked at his First Prime with complete satisfaction. Lo, before being elevated to First Prime, was a subject of the Hok'tar program. Genetic engineering and a strict drug regime had elevated his physical form to incredible levels which Yu desired in a bodyguard but Yu had pulled him from the program before the mental programming of the Hok'tar could be fully implemented.

Thusly, Yu had a unstoppable warrior without the inflexible mindset of those unstable super-soldiers as a bodyguard.

"First Prime," Yu began warmly. "It would appear that I have underestimated O'Neill once more. It seems the Alliance is on the move again and fully intends to attack my empire. Take whatever ships you need and defend against this attack. I shall speak to the lesser Lords and acquire ships from them in order to counter-attack where the Tau'ri least expect it."

Sun Lo rose from his kneeling position smoothly, a feral glint in his eye. "It will be as you command, my Lord."

Yu watched as the First Prime spun about and departed the throne room. Once he was alone, Yu's mask of affability dropped and he bit back a snarl. His position was very precarious. The Alliance had become too big, too powerful. He didn't know whether he could defeat it through strength of arms. If he could destroy Sintesia or Earth, the Alliance might break apart, leaderless and adrift. Unfortunately, Sintesia's spatial location was still unknown to him, though his analysts were fairly sure it lay on the opposite side of the Alliance from his territory and since assaults through the Chappa'ai were essentially defunct nowadays, he would have to take a tortuous route just to get to Sintesia, for Earth most likely lay between him and it. He snarled now with disgust.

Earth.

The entire system had become nothing less than a fortress designed to drown an attacker in his own blood.

Oh, the other core member homeworld's were almost as heavily defended but Earth was something special. The concentric rings of system defenses precluded any hope of reaching as deep as the system's asteroid belt, let alone near to Earth.

It had taken no less than two suicidal Jaffa fleets and one Aschen assault force for the Galaxy to learn that lesson.

No, the chances of him being able to destroy the two foremost planets in the Alliance were essentially non-existent.

He would have to find another way to force the Alliance to back off.


	8. Chapter 9

well, folks, its been a while. Just to reassure you, this IS NOT, WILL NOT be abandoned. I've just had a lack of muse/time/desire, combined with a couple of plot dead-ends and/or re-writes. Cross-over's aren't easy, you know...

this is a two-part update (not due to any plot significance, just that I have two updates worth ready.)

Here's chapter 9, chapter 10 will follow this weekend.

Enjoy.

**Chapter 9**

**On the road…again.**

**)) Day T–minus 70 ((**

**)) 5th May 2031AD ((**

**)) Survey Planet P4607-941N ((**

Adama looked up at the massive ring of stone with equal parts awe and apprehension.

He, President Roslin, Billy, Apollo, Starbuck and Baltar were stood amid a sea of Alliance personnel in the Gate Room of a survey outpost. Ambassador Richardson, the recently promoted Captain Reece and Lt Commander Enofas stood to one side, watching them intently.

Having expressed their desire to visit Earth, if only to assure themselves of the existence of a planet full of humans, Admiral J'Thuk had agreed to their request and arranged for a small group and a suitable escort to travel to the nearest Alliance world with a Stargate and make the trip to Earth.

Apollo and Starbuck had volunteered to test the Gate out earlier that day, just to reassure the Colonial leadership that its essentially safe. Both pale-faced pilots had returned undamaged, if a little shaken.

"CHEVRON SIX, ENGAGED!"

He glanced at President Roslin and noted that she was paler than her illness could account for. She swallowed audibly. "I don't think I'm ready for this..."

Adama chuckled sympathetically. "Do you mean going through that..." he replied, pointing towards the spinning Stargate. "...or the fact that we're about to travel nearly forty thousand lights to Earth as easily as if we were stepping through a door.

"CHEVRON SEVEN ENCODED AND LOCKED."

Baltar, dressed in a stylish suit, had wandered over to a control booth setup nearby and watched the technicians activate the Stargate with interest. An intact control pedestal for the Stargate was there but technicians seemed to have opened it up and were running the entire thing through their native computers.

"Does this pedestal not work, then?" He asked curiously.

A young woman looked up from her computer in surprise at the question. "Oh no, it works fine." She seemed confused for a second and then her eyes changed. "Oh, wait...you mean why are we using our computers rather than the Stargate controls?"

Baltar nodded and tried not to react when Number Six suddenly appeared at his elbow.

The female technician smiled wryly, totally unaware of the illusionary presence circling around her. "The Ancients were pretty darn advanced but I'll be damned if they weren't inflexible as hell. When they build something, they don't really design it to do much of anything else but that specific task. It'll do that job as good as anything else in the Universe, if not better, but not much besides."

She gestured to the computers before her. "Now we like a little more flexibility in our equipment. We learned how to do a lot of things with a Stargate, back at SGC in the beginning, that we wouldn't have learned if we'd had a proper pedestal and not a massive computer lash-up that forced us to make things up as we went along."

Number Six looked up at Baltar with eager eyes. "Ask her what kind of things they can do…"

Baltar did so and the small woman grinned gleefully, making her look like a small girl at Christmas. "Oh, stuff like jumping active endpoints between gates and…"

"Cala!" An older female voice cried out. "That's classified information!"

Cala's head whipped round to see her supervisor standing there with a thunderous expression on her face. "It's not that classified…" She tried in a small voice.

It was true that the ability to jump endpoints wasn't exactly unknown to the Galaxy at large but it was the principle of the thing and the older woman's glare intensified.

Baltar, ever the gentlemen stepped in. "It was totally my fault, ma'am, I asked questions that I shouldn't. I assure you though that I am not in the habit of telling tales."

The supervisor glared at Baltar but nodded eventually and returned to her station, spitting Cala with a look that promised eventual retribution in the near future.

Cala winced but accepted her future philosophically.

"CHEVRON SEVEN ENCODED AND LOCKED!"

Her eyes lit up as she grabbed Baltar by the arm and quickly turned him towards the Stargate. "You can't miss this!"

Caught off guard, Baltar managed to look at Stargate just in time for it to explode in his face.

Nobody noticed the nearby Ground Force trooper stiffen and stare intently at Baltar with dark eyes as the Colonial questioned the tech. Nobody noticed, either, as he used his onboard armour systems to send off a high priority message.

* * *

Adama couldn't help it. He had known what was going to happen but he still flinched violently when a pool of water seemed to reach outward towards them.

The other Colonials, in the respective finery, reacted no better, with the exception of Apollo and Starbuck, who had experienced this wondrous device in action already.

The explosion of energy stopped after only a few feet however and retreated just violently backwards, to form rippling pool of quicksilver.

"Bloody hell..." Baltar whispered almost reverently. He half turned to Cala, eyes unable to tear away from the majestic sight. "How do you maintain structural integrity at the wormhole perimeter? The gravitational shear should be enough to..."

Cala grinned with sympathetic amusement, and with more than a little respect. The Colonial chief scientist might be a xenophobe but he wasn't stupid. "The naquada ring is pretty strong to be sure but you're right, the shear would be enough to bend neutronium." she explained in a schoolteacher's tone.

Baltar finally turned at that. "So how...?"

Cala glanced at her stern faced supervisor briefly but the senior woman only nodded tersely; he was part of a diplomatic mission, after all and this was far from classified information. "The naquada has some really interesting properties, least of which is its ability to absorb energy. What allows it to maintain integrity under the pressure is its ability to use that energy to reinforce its molecular structure. The more energy the stuff absorbs, the stronger it becomes. With the right weapons, you can destroy an inactive Gate relatively easily. Hell, old age will cause even naquada to crumble eventually."

Baltar nodded, having already seen the remains of one ancient Stargate.

She looked away from Baltar and towards the Stargate. "When one's active though...nothing we know of in this Universe can destroy it."

Baltar too, looked back towards the Stargate and seeing that amazing sight, with the internal glow of the wormhole, the muted rumble of tightly controlled energies and the gentle breeze that belied the titanic power displayed, he could hardly disagree.

President Roslin smiled somewhat shakily as the Stargate settled into its placid state. "Well, who's first?" The question was essentially rhetorical as the plan for this diplomatic extravaganza had, like most similar events in history, been worked out in almost overbearing detail.

Adama looked towards Apollo, Starbuck and two Marine guards and nodded once.

The Galactica's premier pilots looked at each other ruefully and started walking cautiously towards the Stargate, followed by the black armoured soldiers.

They, like almost all first-timers, paused at the wormhole's edge. Starbuck noted idly that though the silvery surface seemed to be like a mirror, they had no reflection in the shimmering pool of light.

Apollo took a deep breath. He had done this already this morning but the second time seemed to make him more anxious than the first; now he knew what was coming.

"Try to stay standing this time, huh Lee?" Starbuck said idly.

Apollo grinned. "It was kinda hard to stay upright after being broken into a billion pieces and shot fifty thousand light years across space."

Starbuck gulped slight as Apollo stepped somewhat jauntily in the wormhole. Shaking off the nauseous details of wormhole travel, she dived into wormhole after Lee. She loved this bit.

There was a bright, almost blinding flash of light before she found her self streaking through space at breakneck speeds, twisting between stars before lining up on a straight run in where she seemed to go even faster before slamming into another blinding white light.

She stumbled out of the Stargate, breathing heavily, blood and adrenalin pounding through her body. A light frosting of ice covered her but was melting even as she watched.

Apollo stood to one side, leaning against a guide railing. He was shaking his head in disbelief.

The two marines staggered out of the event horizon, their weapons ready but in a safe position. If the transit had affected them at all, it didn't show in their stance. Something that garnered a group nod of respect from the Alliance troopers stationed around the Gate Room.

"What a rush!" She cried out before her gaze fell on her erstwhile friend and she sent him a superior grin. "I see you're still standing this time..." She looked around and recognised the Gate Room of the Earth SGC from their previous visit. Again, she quietly noted the automated weaponry built in the walls that were focussed on the wormhole.

That said, even knowing that she stood a hair's breadth from annihilation couldn't mask the martial glory of the honour guard of troopers that flanked the base of the ramp, the waiting military brass and the Alliance Council representatives.

Hanging from the high ceiling were Alliance and Colonial Flags of State that added to the pomp and splendour.

The current CO of Earth SGC was General DeSoto and the tall, narrow man was stood at the base of the Stargate, his stern features giving no hint of his inner thoughts.

"Welcome back, Major Apollo, Major Starbuck."

Apollo stepped forward with a plesant smile. "General. It's good to be back."

Starbuck simply nodded politely at the General before they both stepped to one side and looked back towards the Stargate.

The wormhole rippled once more and President Roslin and Commander Adama staggered through, Roslin looking more than a little pale and shaken. Adama, a former pilot himself, seemed to have taken it in his stride. Billy, ever the professional aide, had somehow managed to exit the wormhole behind the two Colonial leaders and still remain invisible as only the best aides can.

"President Roslin of the Colonial Remnant, arriving!" A deep voice called out loudly. The formal announcement seemed to bring Rosin back on an even keel.

"Commander Adama, Colonial Armed Forces, arriving!" Adama felt his back automatically stiffen.

Roslin and Adama walked down the ramp, follwed by Billy, to greeted by General DeSoto. The gaunt base commander smiled broadly and gestured to the receiving line behind him. "Madame President, Commander Adama, this is Madame Chairwoman Bryndís Atladóttir, of the World Council for Earth."

The tall, blond Icelander wore a sharply tailored suit that was elegant and feminine yet helped give her an aura of command that was only enhanced by her height and piercing gray eyes.

"Welcome to Earth." Chairwoman Bryndís greeted them warmly. "I'm led to understand that you have been searching for our world for a long time."

Roslin nodded firmly. "Yes and before anything else, we…I…wish to apologise for the circumstances of our arrival. I don't think there is anything we can do to make up for the tragedy of our first encounter and it's consequences for Lt Reece."

Bryndís studied the other woman and nodded grimly. "I am relieved that you understand the situation with such clarity. While the majority of the Alliance is forgiving of your circumstances, I would be lying if I didn't warn you that there are some elements amongst our population who aren't happy with your actions and the problem of the Cylon's that the Colonials have dropped into our laps. Whilst these machines don't appear to be a match for us technologically, we can't be everywhere at once and we will have to deal with them eventually if we are ever going to live in peace."

Roslin nodded her understanding with no little misery.

The Terran President smiled though. "Enough of this. You have been searching for the birthplace of Humanity and you have now found it." She gestured to the walls of the Gate Room. "And believe me, there is much more to it than this facility."

Adama held up a hand to his eyes as they stepped beyond the nondescript doors of darkened glass into a glorious summer's day.

The Main Plaza, the two square kilometre centrepiece of the city of Babel was laid out before them in all its glory.

Massive silver and golden spires reached high into the sky. Vehicles, small and large flew gracefully between the buildings as a variety of humans and aliens mingled on the Plaza, amongst the eateries, the fountains, the speakers, the variety acts...it was an overwhelming sight of culture and entertainment.

In the distance beyond the swarms of people and the sparkling towers, the heavily forested Cheyenne Mountain was set against a cloudless blue sky; the natural beauty of the mountain a stunning counterpoint to the technological marvel of the city around them.

"Welcome to Babel." Bryndís announced quietly. "One of the jewels of Earth."

"By Kobol..." Roslin choked out tightly beside him as her eyes suddenly became watery.

Adama heard the awe in her voice and he agreed. It was like stepping into the heart of Caprica City once more.

**)) Office of Naval Intelligence, Fleet Station Freedom, geosynchronous Earth orbit ((**

General Abdul Ibn Fahd finally closed the hardcopy folder he had been reading for the past couple of hours and sighed deeply. As the Head of ONI, there was little that didn't pass his desk daily.

Reports, analyses, conclusions, estimates, wild-ass-guesses and dirty little secrets of politicians and business leaders…it all passed through his hands.

One of his recent pet projects had been the 'excision' of Alliance personnel that were also on the payroll of the pirates that used to operate in Sector 11. While Admiral Kun had done a bang up job of eliminating the physical threat posed by the murderers and rapists and their ships, he had sent out teams of agents to quietly remove their accomplices that held positions within the Alliance hierarchy.

Some of them had been quite influential people in and outside of MetalTech and though the majority of them were arrested, given a very public trial and a very long sentence…some were a little too influential, a little too powerful and were impossible to bring to court.

Unfortunately for them, this was no mere money laundering or blackmail scheme they had been involved in. The Sector 11 pirates had brutally murdered many, many innocents and anyone associated with them would be made to pay.

He had eventually been given an executive order.

And so he sent in his teams.

Over the span of two weeks, nine high profile businessmen and diplomats suffered a series of accidents, heart attacks and suicidal urges.

To the casual observer, none of these events were in the least bit suspicious but to everyone, good or bad, with a vested interest in these events, the message was unmistakeable; _you will be made accountable._

Smiling at the thought, he glanced the wall-mounted chrono and frowned. It was later than he realised and the expected call from a colleague had yet to arrive.

Shaking his head, he turned back to his computer and called up the quickly growing file on the Colonials.

This was a problem that was becoming more complicated on an exponential scale.

The Colonial delegation was down below on Earth right this very moment and not usually of any concern for ONI except in an observational way.

At least it wouldn't have been if it wasn't for the two priority messages that arrived in his inbox in the space of half an hour.

The first message had arrived shortly before the Colonials arrived through the Stargate. A Ground Force Trooper, stationed on P4607-941N had pick up a strange electronic emanation from the Colonial Chief scientist, one Gaius Baltar. The message was light on details as armour scan systems aren't optimized for bio-analysis but the gist of it was that Baltar seemed to have some sort of microprocessor attached to his occipital lobe.

This wasn't news to a citizen of the Alliance neural implants were commonplace but the Trooper who made the scan had an Intelligence billet and, combined with the fact that these Colonials were VERY phobic against biotech suggested something sinister, or at the very least unusual and worth investigating.

All well and good.

At least, it would be good if it wasn't for the second message that had arrived ten minutes later.

Earlier on in the day, a group of pilots from the Galactica had been shown around the decks of one of the Fleet carriers and her party had walked past a Shadow EW fighter as it was running a low power scan diagnostic. The pilot onboard was no fool and well aware of the implications when the scan revealed that the young woman with long brown hair and epicanthic folds appeared to have a highly advanced biotech nervous system and augmented neural interface. All of which had a distinct Cylon signature.

General Abdul shook his head. Either event was highly troubling. Combine both events and you had something truly disturbing. The Colonials seemed to be completely unaware of the thorough infiltration of their Remnant.

This wasn't a doomsday threat considering the relative weakness of the base-Cylon technological level but if the entire infrastructure of the original Cylons, including their agents within the Remnant, eventually fell prey to the, for lack of a better word, 'Neo-Cylon' threat that was emerging…things could reach 'doomsday' pretty damn quickly.

First things first, he had to notify certain people downstairs and make sure that this Baltar didn't get to see anything he shouldn't. Frowning, he typed out a short message and shot it out to five different inboxes. Being a member of an unaffiliated civilisation, he would have low-access anyway but it wouldn't hurt to make double sure of that.

Still frowning hard, he noted the current time and tapped his desk control pad. "Louise, has Thanas at Hawter station called yet?"

At her desk, his long-time secretary glared at the intercom balefully. "If he had, don't you think I would have put him through? It is what I'm paid for, after all."

Ibn Fahd winced and a small part of his mind began shopping mentally for an appropriate apology gift. The rest was pre-occupied trying to figure out why Thanas hadn't yet called. They were both very busy people and they had specifically cleared their schedules in order to make this call.

Something was wrong. Unbidden, an old saying about things that came in three's drifted up out of his consciousness and he felt his heart beat a little faster.

He hit the desk control pad once more. "Louise, please get me a line to Hawter Station…"

**)) Conference Room 12, Babel Complex, Earth ((**

Adama sat talking quietly at one end of the conference table with General DeSoto while his son, Starbuck, Baltar and Lt Cmdr Enofas were engaged in a deep discussion over the interactions of the different races that lived amongst the humans in Babel.

By the time the Colonial's had finished their tour of the city, they were more than a little overwhelmed. The sights and sounds had been almost too much to take. For Roslin, with her cancer still weighing heavily upon her, it had been too much and she had nearly collapsed with all the excitement and stress.

Concerned, their Alliance hosts had escorted her and Billy to their medical facilities to check her over.

They had been gone for nearly an hour now and Adama was more than a little concerned.

DeSoto, meanwhile, was studying Adama while the man was in his 'brown study'. He had all the signs of a combat veteran and a good ranking officer. His eyes were somewhat haunted with the 'thousand yard stare' that all field soldiers eventually wore but he also appeared to see everything that happened around him and most of what was left unsaid.

DeSoto had served under a lot of commanders under a lot of different situations and he thought that maybe Adama might just be one of the 'greats', right up there with General O'Neill.

Offhand, he couldn't think of many commanders with the mental fortitude to watch their entire civilisation butchered and still manage to escape with a relatively handful of people into the unknown reaches of space and still be alive to tell the tale three years later.

DeSoto was about to ask Adama a question when, thanks to his own secure neural implant, a message alert superimposed itself in his field of view. Mentally opening the message, he noted it was from his 2IC and quickly read its contents, sternly commanding his own features to remain impassive. The Colonial Baltar seemed to have something along for the ride!

Despite his experience, DeSoto was at an immediate loss as how to proceed. While no outgoing signal had been detected, it was possible that his implant used burst transmissions to maintain communication and they just hadn't caught a transmission cycle yet. Detaining Baltar for questioning seemed a little heavy handed yet neither could they continue to let him roam free while on Alliance territory.

Thankfully, his 2IC had begun broad spectrum jamming on known Cylon frequencies, just to be sure. A small part of him winced as the side lobes from that jamming would probably shut down or at least interfere with numerous systems across Babel. Shaking off the thought, he mentally composed several responses of his own and sent them off.

Completely oblivious to his host's mental actions, Adama realised he had been ignoring DeSoto for the past five minutes and decided to jump-start the conversation once more.

"I heard these Goa'uld mentioned a fair bit…I'm to understand you're currently in a conflict with them?"

DeSoto watch the last message disappear and returned his attention to Adama. "Yes, though they are far less of a threat than they were five years ago. The only reason why they still exist is that once we no longer stood on the brink of annihilation, the politicians became less and less willing to approve missions that would be costly in men and materiel. The last System Lord, Yu, is no fool and saw this hesitation. He has ceased all offensive strikes and instead built up his defenses to such a point that almost any conventional attack would suffer terrible losses."

Even as the politician in Adama could understand the Alliance governments stance, the warrior in him grimaced at the thought of such a malignancy being left to exist, however offensively impotent.

The subconscious comparison to a cancer suddenly brought all his thoughts back to the President's condition and that it had been a while since they had heard from Roslin.

He was about to call on Billy for an update when the doors to the conference room swung open and Roslin entered, flanked by Billy and President Bryndís, looking tired but more upbeat than she had been for a while.

"Madame President." Adama called out, mostly successful in hiding his relief at seeing her well.

The others in the conference room practically jumped to their feet in the sudden presence of their commanders-in-chiefs, causing Roslin and Bryndís to share a small smile.

"It's so nice to have such well-trained men around, is it not, Madame President?" Bryndís commented _sotto-voce_.

Roslin smiled broadly. "Yes it is, Madame Chairwoman…though my men still make a mess now and again." She replied, arching an eyebrow at Adama, who for the life of him couldn't suppress a sudden slight blush.

Adama looked at the woman he had come to call friend curiously. "Are you alright, ma'am?"

Roslin nodded, almost breathlessly. "I've never felt better!"

"Ma'am?" Apollo asked hesitantly.

The President's smile lit up the room. "I'm cured. The cancer, it's gone!"

**)) Day T–minus 75 ((**

**)) 6th May 2031AD ((**

**)) Ha'kon – Territory of System Lord Yu ((**

Jaffa Second Nang Ho watched his Jaffa move about their business with quiet efficiency. Outwardly, he appeared calm and balanced, but inside, his nerves were strung wire tight.

For days now, small fighters of an unfamiliar design had been probing star systems along this entire 1000 light year section of the frontier. Barely twelve hours ago, one of these strange scouts had appeared deep within the inner system and screamed past the Jaffa outpost on the planet Hakon, its orbital defensive force and disappeared as abruptly as it arrived.

There was currently no doubt in his mind that it was the Alliance behind these probes and that their long feared offensive was about to begin.

No Jaffa who had fought against the feared God-Killers, the Tau'ri and their puppet allies would ever doubt their ability to destroy Lord Yu; not after they had destroyed the old Goa'uld Union twenty years ago and then spent the next two decades steadily eliminating System Lord after System Lord, putting down the rabid dogs, the Aschen, and expanding their territories at the same time.

Lord Yu's presence on Hakon, being a frontier system, was limited to a couple of Jaffa Legions, a land based echelon of udajeets and two Hat'ak Motherships in orbit, with their standard udajeet compliment. Would the Alliance juggernaut even notice when they rolled right over him?

He had, of course, sent off an urgent report to the First Prime regarding the incursions.

The First Prime message in response to the report had been less than assuring.

He would be arriving at the frontier in less than a week with nearly a hundred Motherships of all sizes. Half would be used for spot reinforcement along the border, while the rest, mainly the bigger ships, would stay together to act as a reaction force, ready to intercept the Alliance Fleet once their main axis of approach became apparent.

For all the good it would it would do.

Nang shook himself. His current mood of fatalism was endemic to the majority of Jaffa nowadays. They and the Goa'uld were a beaten civilisation. They had simply yet to be buried.

"Second!" A Jaffa at sensor station called out tersely. "I'm detecting a strange spacial disturbance between us and the planet, it is forming quick...correction, the disturbance has now faded but two large vessels have appeared!"

"Alliance?" Nang queried over the sudden blaring of alarms.

"Possibly." The other Jaffa shook his head. "Energy signatures match those of the unknown scouts." His face tightened briefly. "They're launching missiles! At us and the surface!"

Nang slammed fist into his chair arm. "Point defences on the missiles! Get the ground udajeet echelons and our own launched. Heavy and medium cannons are to fire on the enemy capital ships, all light cannons are to target the enemy fighters till we can get ours formed up."

The weapons Jaffa frowned slightly. "What enemy fighters?"

The flashes of weapons fire outside the ship began to light up the bridge.

As if on cue, the Jaffa at the sensor station looked up with wry humour. "Enemy capital ships launching fighters."

Nang smiled grimly as the weapons officer shook off his impressed look and turned his attention back to the fight.

It hadn't been all that hard to guess they'd be launching fighters. They'd already seen their scouts. He had a sneaking suspicion that these ships weren't Alliance vessels after all. They sure as Hades hadn't used any form of hyperspace he was familiar with; they were halfway inside the gravity well, for Sokar's sake!

The Motherships built by Yu carried massive arrays of point defences these days. Thanks to advances in Alliance weaponry and power generation, their ships were putting forth heavier and heavier salvos of weapons fire and it was better to destroy as much incoming fire as possible in order to ease the drain on the shields.

Lazarus noted that the incredibly thick counter-battery fire from the parasite's warships was actually making a better defence than that of the more accurate but thinner human point defence.

Amazingly, the first wave of missiles were intercepted by the blaze of counterfire, albeit, some of the latter intercepts had been very close. Their early deaths however had bought time for the second wave to close without taking significant fire.

Point defense retargeted and began to fire once more. Missiles died; slowly, for they were shielded, but die they did. Four missiles, however, survived the storm of fire to close the range.

White fire boiled up around the Motherships, the star-like fury of naquada-enhanced fusion warheads battering the shields, causing their power levels to drop precipitously.

Second Nang paled as the ship heaved under the titanic assault. "Open a channel to First Prime!" he roared over the exploding consoles.

The communications Jaffa frowned. "I can't get a signal out. We're getting full spread jamming." He shook his head in awe. "They're not shifting jamming frequencies to match the ones we use, they're simply jamming everything!"

"Impossible! The power requirements..." Nang shook it off. There was nothing he could do about it.

A sudden strangled cry of frustration and fear grabbed everyone's attention.

The weapons Jaffa looked face taut and sweating. "I can't stop them all! Brace for impact!"

Nang eyes widened and he grabbed for the arm of his chair as another blast of fusion fire satuarated the area around the Motherships. The shaking and the roaring seemed to last an eternity. His eyes fell on the displays just long enough to realise that the last remnants of the shields had fallen before a wave of heat seemed to wash over him, followed by a brief moment of pain and then…nothing.

The two small molten metal lumps that used to be Motherships floated at the centre of a dissipating field of hot plasma.

The barely launched udajeets had simply been vapourized.

Lazarus nodded once and extended his senses, by proxy of the Basestar's sensors, towards the planet.

He was greeted by the sight of a glowing crater where the parasites had, up till now, held a base.

It would seem the Goa'uld would pose no problem to his future plans either.

**)) Babel, Earth ((**

O'Neill pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to ten silently, ignoring the dozen people assembled around the secure conference room. Deep within the heart of High Command. After regaining a measure of calm, he looked over his desk at General Ibn Fahd and glared at him. "You mean to tell me that an entire station dropped off the 'Net over two weeks ago and nobody noticed until now!" Unbidden, his voice had risen steadily throughout his question until his was nearly shouting.

The Head of ONI winced slightly but otherwise held up well in the face of O'Neill's anger. "Not to sound like I'm passing the buck but Operations isn't my bailwick, sir. Intelligence communications are usually constrained by a delay of this magnitude."

O'Neill nodded grimly and turned his fiery glare towards the Head of Operations, Admiral Serena and the Head of Fortress Command, Admiral Thanas.

Serena, a native Polarian and a member of the Alliance Command Staff since its inception, shook her head remorsefully. "We dropped the ball, sir. I freely offer my resigna…" Her words drifted to a halt as O'Neill raised his palm to stop her.

"I'm not interested in assigning blame and firing people, Admiral, I simply want…" O'Neill stopped as he realised he was practically forcing the words out between gritted teeth. He closed his eyes and took several calming breaths. When he opened his eyes, the others in the room could see the anger had, if not exactly faded, had retreated back enough to let him function better. O'Neill spared a glance towards Teal'c who was leaning against the far wall of the conference room. The big ex-Jaffa had spent some time a few years back teaching O'Neill some kel'no'reem techniques.

"Admiral," He began again, "What I want to know is how this happened and how we can prevent it in the future."

Serena nodded somewhat re-assured and geban hesitantly. "The Alliance Military InfoNet Mainframe here on Earth and Sintesia was initially set up to poll each of its major Fleet Bases on a daily basis. Each Fleet Base would be, in turn, responsible for polling its surrounding Fleet Stations. Fleet Station _Hawter_, in Sector 37, was reporting to Fleet Base _Cheshire_."

O'Neill's eyes tightened when she mentioned _Cheshire_. Admiral Thanas, the man in charge of all the Alliance's orbital and deep space bases saw it and nodded, taking up the narrative. "Exactly. _Cheshire's_ subsidiary mainframes were being gutted by our techs because of the rogue AI the Sector 11 Pirates had managed to sneak onboard. All communication systems, right down to the internal intercoms were shut down to prevent the rogue AI from escaping. The fact that we weren't getting a complete census poll of our facilities was acknowledged but considered a more than acceptable risk in light of the recent lull in the war."

Fleet Admiral J'Thuk was the first to voice the other thought. "What about the Omega Drones? Two weeks is more than enough time for a class-three FTL drive to make it to nearly any Alliance outpost in the Galaxy."

Admiral Thanas shook his head. "We don't know, sir. Fortress Command is stumped. We can only suggest that either massive failure of the Omega systems or that they were destroyed so quickly, they never had time to launch the drone."

O'Neill frowned. "Okay, that brings us to the important questions; who and why."

"The Goa'uld?" Teal'c suggested quietly.

J'Thuk shook his head. "Barring any unforeseen advancement in technology, they lack the capability; a Fleet Station and its cruiser squadrons would have made any Goa'uld attack a very expensive victory. The investigative task-force hasn't found any other wreckage save that of the station and the cruisers." He finished sadly.

"The Cylons?" Thanas ventured.

The room was silent. O'Neill shrugged. "I suppose it's possible. They are the only other likely threat at the moment, despite how easily we trounced them before. Perhaps they've learnt a thing or two since then." He sighed heavily and looked towards J'Thuk. "Work on the assumption that it's the Cylons for now but keep your mind open for other possibilities."

He looked towards the entire room now. "The Colonials are heading back today. We've got some issues to settle out but I fully expect they'll be fully integrated into the Alliance by the end of the year. That this will earn the Cylon's enmity is without doubt but I am sure we will face this new threat like we have faced past ones…triumphantly. Go back to your respective commands. We've been far too relaxed for too long now and it has come back and bit us on the ass while the people on _Hawter_ have paid the price. Well no more. Go back to your people and start whipping them into shape. If anyone thinks I'm going to let this happen again without a fight, you've got another thing coming. Dismissed."

As the Command Staff began to shuffle out of the conference room, a handful of officers remained.

O'Neill turned towards J'Thuk. "The diplomatic talks with the Colonials have gone relatively well. There are still some issues of autonomy and the like but I think the Colonials can live with our charter easily enough and there is barely fifty thousand of them after all. How are the plans to get them to the New Israel system proceeding?"

The massive bear-like admiral gave a deep grunt. "We've had our troubles but last I heard from Sam is that once Roslin and the Colonial contingent return to their fleet, they'll begin making their own way to New Israel. Since they're using their own FTL drives to get there, I can't put any sort of meaningful escort in their formation. The best I can do is to put advisors on the Galactica and have their fleet shadowed by Alliance ships."

Nodding, O'Neill turned to his aide. "Kathy, I need you to…"

**)) Day T–minus 74 ((**

**)) 16th May 2031AD ((**

**)) Battlestar Galactica – Interstellar space ((**

Adama looked out of the forward viewport at the stars and sighed heavily.

With the final details of the Colonial Negotiations being finished over a week ago and he had hoped that he could relax but, during his trip to Earth, an unforeseen problem with the proposed method of transport to their new world in the Alliance had arisen.

The Alliance technical wizards had planned to generate an enormous 'field' around the Galactica that would carry her into hyperspace, far faster than she could travel on her own drive. The numerous small ships of the Colonial Remnant would be retired and their passengers loaded onto Alliance transports or, even simpler, moved through a Stargate.

Adama knew things would not be that simple and they hadn't. The Colonial refugees, out of the blue, had shown a massive reluctance to leave their rickety ships. Even more surprising was that it hadn't been fear of the unknown driving their opinions but a, thus far, well hidden self-respect that wanted them to make it to their new world on their own.

The impatience on the faces of some of the Alliance military heads might have made for another argument if it hadn't been for the Alliance engineers who had deemed the Galactica's inertial fields insufficient for the rigours of 'hyperspace' travel.

They had suggested ripping out half the ship's engines in order to shoe horn one of their FTL drives inside her but a fiery woman, General Carter had immediately vetoed that suggestion as she wanted to study Colonial technology and she couldn't do that if it was reduced to a pile of junk.

His memory of her tirade at some of the junior officers during that particular discussion brought a smile to his face and a chuckle to escape his lips.

He had thought he was alone in the observation blister but a small cough made him whip around in surprise.

"Madame President!" He said with some surprise. He hadn't been notified…

Roslin raised her hand apologetically. "I spoke to Colonel Tigh as I shuttled over. Since you were off duty, I asked him not to bother with any formalities and to just let me slip onboard."

Adama nodded more calmly. He gestured towards a bench beside the viewport and they both sat down with a smile.

"So what brings you over here, between jumps?" He asked curiously. They were on Jump no.32 of a scheduled 470. That was nearly sixty days of jumps to take them 14,000 light years to their new home. After their three years of constant jumping, this was nothing but a small jaunt across the street. _Not to mention those navigational starcharts and computer support the Alliance provided that have allowed Gaeta to pre-plot the majority of jumps ahead of time._

"We hadn't had much time to talk about how you're dealing with all this…" She smiled ruefully and corrected herself. "How we're both dealing with this…"

Adama nodded sympathetically. "How are you feeling, Laura?"

The trip to Earth had not only been an almost religious experience for them both, but it had been the place she had been cured of cancer, which engendered its own sense of awe.

"I try not to think about it too much, William." Roslin replied quietly. "They say they accounted for all of the nanobots and that there are none let in my body but I still get nightmares…"

"But you're alive." Adama reaffirmed gently.

They both fell silent as the starfield outside the ship flared and the Galactica went hyperlight once more. Barely a second of gut twisting motion and the Galactica dropped into normal space once more, 28 light years closer to their new world.

**)) Day T–minus 67 ((**

**)) 18th May 2031AD ((**

**)) Cylon Pursuit Force (Staging Base Epsilon) - 2000 lightyears from Sector 49 ((**

Doral stood in front of the massive transparisteel viewport and watched impassively as the Basestar 82-G pushed its way deeper into the thick asteroid belt of this dead system. With their far superior hyperlight drives, capable of jumping nearly 500 light years at a time, the strategist and logistical sections had decided to limit themselves to but a handful of staging bases along the Colonials escape vector, from which attacks could be launched.

He heard the soft footsteps of someone approaching.

"We still haven't heard anything from anybody onboard 19-C or the others." Valerii announced grimly. "It's not like you, Doral, to stay out of contact this long. Number Six, yes, she was designed for independent ops but…"

Doral nodded slowly. "Yes…it's not my…style." He turned to face her. "What have the scouts reported?"

"They found nothing at the planet that we were going to attack the Colonials at except for residual energy signatures consistent with weapons fire…ours and theirs. There was also a suspiciously high ionic residue which could indicate a new directed energy weapon or some sort."

"The odds are high that they have been destroyed." She concluded blandly.

"Possibly." Doral acknowledged. "I would have expected to have found debris though if the Colonials had chosen to stand and fight." His stern features became troubled. "We lack even the most imperfect information about the status of our attack force but even that is enough to worry me. Why haven't we received any Cylon consciousnesses? Surely the ShipMinds would have been able to anticipate their destruction towards the end and transmitted at least some of their crew back to the Resurrection Ship?"

He turned back to the view port. Basestar 82-G had finally entered the perimeter of the staging area where it was clean of asteroids and ships were free to manoeuvre. A large facility had been built into one of the larger planetoids that was mining a rich vein of tyrellium and smelting asteroidal ore in order to repair and build new ships.

In the distance, the massive cathedral-like Resurrection Ship held station serenely.

"Launch as many scouts as we can spare. I want answers."

**)) Day T–minus 29 ((**

**)) 25th June 2031AD ((**

**)) Gryphon SGC – Wakazi Military District, Gryphon ((**

Major General Rachel Bannon, CO of the 111th Heavy Infantry Division, holder of the Golden Lion, the Star of Valor and the Alliance Champion, sat back and stared at the damned executive toy in disgust; it was a cross between two old favorites, a Rubix cube and the number puzzle Sudoku and it was the current craze amongst the civilians of the Alliance. Her husband, Brigadier General Samuel Lyman, had bought one for her as an apology for pulling an inspection tour on one of the border worlds during their anniversary.

She loved him dearly but his tastes in gifts was 'odd' to say the least and had gotten him into trouble on more than one occasion. This particular one really set a personal best.

She had, however, in the name of marital harmony, tried it out. Within the space of ten minutes, however, the small cube had crushed her utterly. The only bright spot was that Sam Carter wasn't there to witness the humiliating defeat.

A musical tone sounded in the air.

"Enter." She called out, never taking her glare off the small cube.

A barrel of a man stomped into her office and dropped into a casual parade rest in front her desk. Master Sergeant Robertson's lips tightened briefly in what passed for his version of a smile in greeting.

"Morning, ma'am."

Bannon gave up glaring at the toy when it became apparent that it wouldn't melt into a puddle of plastic after all. "Top." She replied warmly. "Grab a seat."

Robertson sat down, picking up the executive toy and staring at it distastefully. He twisted it a couple of times experimentally. "From the Brigadier?"

Bannon nodded sourly at her long time sergeant. "Anniversary tomorrow."

The Master Sergeant, with heroic effort, managed not to roll his eyes. Lyman's 'gift' for bad gifts was legendary.

"You wanted to see me, ma'am?" He asked as he made another idle twist of the cube.

Bannon nodded, becoming all business. "I've been speaking with the Queen and she's offered another three of her Home Divisions if we so require it."

Robertson gave a quiet little smile. "God, I love these people."

Bannon's command, the 111th Heavy Infantry, was _the_ primary strike command of the Alliance and was essentially a full Mechanized Corps in all but name, with a thousand M1A6 Assault Tanks, nearly half a million Troopers, and their support elements. A full third of the Troopers were combat armour equipped.

Taking and holding planets however, consumed enormous amounts of men and materiel and the Alliance, even with the reduced tempo of operations during the current stalemate, was stretched thin.

The member worlds of the Alliance were obligated to provide a certain percentage of their military to be pooled as 'Alliance' forces, and the remainder would be left alone as a 'Home Guard'.

In this manner, the Alliance would have steadily expanding 'offensive' force and still maintain a considerable defensive reserve.

What the Queen of Gryphon was offering Ground Force Command was warfighting troops, and damned good ones, from her planet's armed forces.

Technically, this might leave her open to attack; the risk was very small, of course, but there nonetheless. Other worlds would not want to risk any of their household troops, whose loss might be hard to replace.

Neither of these points, however, posed a problem for the Gryphonese. The invasion of Gryphon, over twenty years previously, had left many scars on the planet and its people. That said, they had shown remarkable resilience and simply set about rebuilding their world and building the most feared ground fighting force in the Alliance.

Bannon smiled at her old friend with heartfelt agreement. "I got the word from O'Neill this morning. The 111th finally has a mission beyond defining the extent of Yu's defenses."

"About damn time." Robertson replied bitterly.

A true believer of the saying, 'if you can't say anthing good, say nothing', Bannon simply picked up her datapad and waggled it in the air expectantly.

Her senior sergeant nodded sourly, having hoped for a good bitching session, but recognized the warfighter face his CO wore and pulled his own datapad out of an oversized pocket on his left leg. A couple of quick taps on its display and…"Ready to receive." He stated.

Bannon smiled and pressed a button on her pad. Immediately, a flood of data passed between the two pads over a secure signal. "This is new deployment plan. Thanks to our good foresight, the 111th is nowhere near in as bad shape as some of the other commands."

Robertson, quickly studying the deployment overview, nodded firmly. "Everything's pretty much in place for immediate deployment, ma'am." A small notation, almost like an afterthought caught his attention. "Ma'am, what's this about these bloody Colonials?"

Bannon flashed a tight grin. "I know. But orders are orders and it _does_ make some sense."

"Beg pardon, ma'am, but my boys and girls aren't Intelligence pukes." The sergeant replied harshly. "They're soldiers, not spies and this pile of crap is beneath them!"

Bannon shook her head firmly, ignoring the bluster from the aging fire-eater. "Nevertheless, we will provide a unit for this mission. Now, who do you have in mind for the job?"

"Colonel Harper's brigade." Robertson replied instantly and with no small amount of pride. "They're the only guy's I'd trust to do this, do it right and come out alive at the end of it."

"Plus, they're the only unit crazy to actually think this mission might be fun." Bannon added slyly. "You have the honour of breaking it to them."

**)) Day T–minus 10 ((**

**)) 14th July 2031AD ((**

**)) Alliance System of New Israel ((**

The universe seemed to darken and twist for both eternity and a mere microsecond before everything seemed to right itself suddenly and the crew of the Galactica found themselves 16 light years from their previous position.

"FTL jump complete." Capt Gaeta announced victoriously. "We're right on the money. Reading the fourth planet bearing 030 karem 014, distance 100 million kilometers. Lidar's picking up a number of Alliance ships in orbit." He shook his head. "I'm getting heavy neutrino emissions from the second planet."

Adama nodded, totally unsurprised. "Pacifica. The Alliance shipyard we'll be sharing the system with."

President Roslin stepped away from the railing she had been leaning on and looked at Adama eagerly. "Can we see our new world?"

Adama grinned like a school kid and looked up at CPO Dualla-Keikeya. Her husband, Billy stood behind her holding their baby boy, Alexander, who had finally been born on the journey over here. The light-coffee skinned woman smirked at her CO's expression and brought up an image of their new world on the main screen.

All eyes turned to look at the blue, green and white marble and the resulting silence was profound.

"Transmit this to all the ships in the Fleet, and let me talk." Roslin ordered reverently.

Dualla punched a few buttons on her console and looked up at the President. "You're up."

Roslin scanned the CIC staff as she spoke. "People of the Colonial Remnant, my friends…my family…what you are seeing is our new world, a new start for all of us."

On ships across the ragtag fleet, shining eyes were fixed upon viewscreens, darely hoping that this all might be real.

"Too many people have died for me to feel complete joy at what we have found here amongst the Alliance, but we can best serve those we have lost, and best have our revenge upon the Cylons by living, by thriving!"

People reached out to those nearby…family…friends…complete strangers...and held on tightly, silently wishing that those that had been left behind were with them now.

"We shall take this world and we shall make it our home! We have travelled half the Galaxy to escape destruction and we have seen both heights mankind is capable of, and the depths to which we can sink and so I say to you that we shall start anew."

Even the darkest of hearts amongst those in the Fleet felt a flicker of something new, something different, burning in they're hearts. In many cases, that flame was snuffed out by the darkness within before it could take hold but, in a few, the hope of a new world, a new life began to burn brightly.

"We shall put aside the sins of our past and the shackles of our differences in order to become one people once more, on our new home…Olympia."

The ship of the Colonial Remnant turned towards the planet for their final journey. 

They were home.

* * *

well, there it is.

2/2 update this weekend. i promise on my firstborn.


	9. Authors Note

**Authors note -**

This is just a stupid addition to bring the FFnet chapters in line with my chapter numbering. I don't know about any of you but it was like a 'splinter in my mind'.

It's always the little things that bug me.

And just to fill this empty space, one of my favorite pieces of writing. And, incidentally, the inspiration for the newest city on earth…

**_Then they said, "Come, let us build ourselves a city and a tower with its top in the heavens, and let us make a name for ourselves, lest we be dispersed over the face of the whole earth."_**

**_And the Lord came down to see the city and the tower, which the children of man had built._**

**_And the Lord said, "Behold, they are one people, and they have all one language, and this is only the beginning of what they will do. And nothing that they propose to do will now be impossible for them._**

****

****

Damn, call me a romantic but if that ain't something to aspire to, I don't know what is…

Oh, and just to head off any complaints about wanting an 'english' speaking world (I can see the deluge now…)

I prefer to think about the 'one language' as something more metaphysical; that we may speak with different tongue, but we all love, we all cry, we all drink, we all use the bathroom the first thing in the morning… :)

I prefer to think the 'one language' as meaning that we all have more in common than we do in difference.

Except for lawyers and politicians.

Damn bloodsuckers…


	10. Chapter 10

Well, here's part 2/2. see, I bet you all were nervous that it was gonna take another week to get this part out, huh?

Just in case you were wondering, I actually spotted a relatively minor logical flaw in the previous chapter that I made and am blaming it entirely upon the rush to get a chapter out to all you impatient people.

Okay, I'll be fair, I'll take a little bit of the blame. I did put it in after all.

Kudos to the first person to mention it in a review.

Obscure Hint #1 – how would you know a neo-cylon was involved?

**Chapter 10**

**Oh Brave New World…**

**)) Day T-minus 5 (( **

**)) 19th July 2031AD ((**

**)) Colonial Homeworld Olympia – New Israel System ((**

Colonel Harper walked down the ramp of one of the two _Narwhale-class_ transports that had just touched down after the relatively short trip from Pacifica and breathed deeply of the planet's air. Like many veterans of the Alliance Ground Force, he had visited countless worlds, breathed their air and ate their food. Despite General O'Neill's legendary 'oh look, another forest…' attitude, pretty much all members of the Alliance Armed Forces agreed that most worlds had their differences. Some worlds had lighter gravity, some smelt weird, pleasant or even downright nasty.

Fortunately, this planet was a relative paradise. Absently, he wondered if BuCol realised what kind of world they were giving the Colonials. Lush, life-bearing worlds were fairly common thanks to what the Science Division believe was Ancient terraforming but not _that_ common.

"Welcome to Olympia." A voice called out to his right.

Harper looked up and saw his contact, the Colonial President's aide, Mr Keikeya, standing there casually wearing plain overalls and carrying a clipboard and a small computer pad. Beyond him sat a cluster of large shuttles of Colonial design and numerous people milling around, watching the Alliance transports with barely disguised glee.

"Thank you, sir." Harper replied, coming to attention and rendering a respectful salute.

Billy nodded and smiled wryly. "You can relax with the sir stuff, for starters. Every time I hear it, I keep looking over my shoulder for someone important."

The Alliance Colonel nodded with a small smile that was tinged with a little relief. His initial briefing had come with orders to place himself under the command of the Colonials for all matters with the exception of his primary mission. Nearly all of Ground Force had heard of Lt Reese's treatment at the hands of these people and an institutional distrust had quickly grown. He was pleased to see that at least this Colonial was somewhat friendly when he, in all honesty, was expecting borderline paranoia and hostility.

"I've taken the liberty of organising one hundred construction teams, nearly three thousand men and women in all. Once we start unloading the supplies and pre-fabs, we can get to work immediately."

Harper raised an eyebrow in surprise. This was moving with speed.

Billy saw the gesture and his smiled widened. "We've got a lot of people dying to get planetside. Three years is a long time to be spaceborne."

"Understandable." Harper replied as the final three Narwhale transports drifted in to land, almost soundlessly, on its anti-gravity units. The five massive transports sat gleaming in the planet's sunshine, each transport shaped like a heavily pregnant bird, short stubby wings with massive engine housings on the tips and a long neck that tapered upward into a cockpit shaped like a bird of prey's head. (ie – think of the Firefly-class from Serenity, but larger, more streamlined and more advanced.)

Harper's eyes unfocussed for several seconds as he accessed his neural feed com-link, sending orders to his people and causing a flurry of activity from within the transports. Billy noted the far-off expression and the sudden activity from the Alliance personnel and quickly put together the connection of a bio-tech implant. He shuffled slightly, trying to hide the small shudder the thought caused.

Seconds later, engines revved from inside the cavernous hulls of the transports and large tractors began to flow out of the grounded transports, pulling anti-grav sleds behind them. Each sled held massive crates containing food, medicine, general supplies and pre-fabricated housing.

Colonel Harper pulled a pad from a leg pocket and gave it to Billy. "Here's the complete inventory of everything we're offloading. My people know who you are and will follow your orders so use it to divert the equipment to wherever you need it."

Billy nodded seriously. "Thank you, Colonel. I call if I run into any problems."

As the Presidential aide walked towards the assembling group of Colonial workers, two Alliance soldiers who looked disturbingly like each other walked down the ramp and came to a stop either side of Harper.

"You two have your troops dialled in?" Harper asked, without turning from his inspection of the offloading of the transports.

Lieutenants David and Mickey Goins nodded their heads solemnly. "Yes, sir." The both replied in chorus.

Harper spun and glared at both of them. "Cut that out." As well as speaking at the same time, their heads had been nodding at the exact same rate. That glare had little to no effect on them since they had been under Harper's command since they were privates. The rest of the old squad had been promoted to other positions but Harper had managed to hold onto to these two as his senior officers.

Some days he really couldn't remember why…

Relaxing his expression slightly, David smirked a little bit before turning serious. "My boys and girls are bitching about being used as intelligence toads but other than that, its seems like a pretty easy mission."

Mickey nodded with equal seriousness. "Bitching aside though, some of my people aren't happy about the rule of engagement."

Harper sighed slightly. He wasn't exactly happy himself. "I can't help you there, Mickey. This is strictly an intelligence gathering exercise to determine the extent of the Cylon penetration. There is to be no firing upon a Colonial or a Cylon agent unless you are fired upon. Be careful when and where you use your armour scan systems and for God's sake, try not to cause a diplomatic incident. The bastards tortured one of ours and although we don't condone torture as a rule, these people had to bear witness to the destruction of 40 billion people and their way of life. I think we can cut them a little slack. That said, if any Colonial starts to push, I don't wanna see any cuts and bruises on you that you haven't returned with interest; we're civilised but that doesn't make us pussys…understood?"

Both Lieutenants nodded and Harper grimaced. "You'd better let your people loose and start making friendly with the natives."

As both men disappeared back into the transport Harper turned back to the nigh-chaotic scene of Colonials crawling all over the materials being unloaded.

**)) Interplanetary space – New Israel system ((**

Apollo shifted in the seat of his Viper fighter and grinned under his helmet. He didn't miss flying standing combat air patrols day in, day out but he did miss flying and he had been groundside far too long.

He suddenly winced as a scream of pure joy ripped into his eardrums as another Viper flashed by his cockpit at an insane speed, barely metres away from a collision.

"You're dead, Apollo." Starbuck called out as she waggled her wings in amusement.

Apollo, who had noted her approach long before she was in a position to 'administratively' shoot him, smiled slightly.

"Shoot a friend in the back, hey Starbuck?" He asked in reply.

"Just cause you're slowing down old man..."

The two Colonials had simply been flying patterns around the Yard, looking at all the Alliance construction projects. They had been duly impressed by the sheer scale and scope of the work being undertaken. While the Pacifica Yard had been relatively quiet when the Galactica had first arrived, it had still seemed impressive. Ships of all size and description, space station components, orbital smelters, forges and manufactories spanned for all intents and purposes, the entire system.

Apollo was about to reply to Starbuck's insult when his comm crackled with another transmission.

"Viper 1, this Diamond flight approaching from your nine oclock, how about a little two on two? When you get locked up, you're dead."

Apollo looked to port and, sure enough, two Alliance Sabres were calmly flying off his left wing.

"Diamond flight, this Viper Flight, challenge accepted." Apollo recognised the loose wingman formation the Alliance fighter pilots were using and instantly guessed they had a similar doctrine towards covering formations. _Time for something unconventional._ "Starbuck, break two, high side switch!" The words were barely out of his mouth before he slammed the throttles forward and sent his Viper angling sharply down.

Starbuck, without hesitation, pushed her throttles to the stops and pulled back on the stick, sending her Viper vertical, relative to the Sabres which had wavered for a second before both went after Apollo. She spent two seconds heading up and away from Apollo's retreating fighter before cutting her forward thrust, spinning on the reaction control thrusters, and engaging the burners once more, now heading downwards.

Apollo had also performed the same manoeuvre after a two second thrust. He, however, found himself head to head with two oncoming Sabres. He jinked as hard as he dared, barely seconds away from being locked up before they flew past each other at tremendous speed.

The Sabres tried to turn around but found themselves being targeted by Starbuck's Viper. The lead Sabre shook his head. His Sabres couldn't match the turn rates of the Vipers. "Two, extend." He ordered his wingman tersely. Pushing his throttle forward, he used the power and speed for which the Sabres were famous for to his advantage and headed off at an oblique angle, powering clear of Starbuck's shot.

"Frack." Starbuck swore as the two Sabres suddenly whipped off her scope before she could aquire.

Apollo grinned. The Vipers were more manoeuvrable but those Sabres were faster.

For the next ten minutes, the four fighters flew their craft to the limits, neither side able to get a clean advantage until Apollo and Starbuck use their long hours of flying together to their advantage.

"Apollo, swing left five, tail low, buster." Starbuck ordered tightly, a manic grin pasted on her features. She hadn't had this much fun in years.

"Copy.'" Apollo replied as he pulled his Viper into a long, wide left-hand turn.

The Sabre pilot chasing him grinned, assuming that the Alliance fighter jock had finally made a mistake or was just plain tired. He pulled his fighter into the tightest turn he could, which was barely keeping up with the lazy turn the Viper was making. Unfortunately for the Sabre pilot, it never occurred to him that Apollo was simply trolling him in.

He was barely a second away from a positive shot when the second Viper came out of nowhere and 'administratively' raked his Sabre with fire as a sharp needling tone filled his cockpit, his computer informing him that he had just been tagged.

The other Sabre pilot, while refusing to be trolled by Starbuck, had been twisted and turned all over the sky by her rapid manoeuvres and he had lost his situational awareness, despite his advanced computer aides. The other Viper had, almost leisurely, turned onto an intercepting course and similarly blown him out of the sky. Playfully, of course.

"Crap. That was one hell of a fight, Colonials. I am officially impressed." The lead Sabre pilot called out. "If you ever make it to a bar on Pacifica called the Landing Strip, ask for Nightmare and Hound Dog and we'll buy you a round."

Apollo smiled as Starbuck rejoined his wing. Even from here he could see here self-satisfied smile. "Apollo and Starbuck say thank you and hope to see you in the near future."

The two Sabres waggled their wings and then broke away at high velocity leaving two tired but exhilarated pilots.

**)) Day T-minus 0 (( **

**)) 24th July 2031AD ((**

**)) Alliance Colony world of New Madrid ((**

A sinister chuckle echoed through the darkened bridge as Lazarus' growing fleet made the transition from hyperlight deep within the gravity well of the Alliance world of New Madrid.

His Centurions barely paused long enough for the Basestar's sensors to stabilize before they began to open fire.

For the meagre Alliance forces guarding New Madrid, the sudden appearance of unfamiliar warships _behind _their defensive perimeter deep within the gravity well where no ship can use hyperspace, came as a complete shock.

New Madrid was a relatively new colony, having on a small population of thirty thousand colonists and their defenses reflected this, with one small _Freedom_-class guardian station, three aging _Prometheus_-class destroyers and a barely younger _Daedalus_-class long range missile-cruiser. A thin spread of orbital weapon platforms provided defense in depth, holding position right on the edge of the planet's gravity well.

Though well armed despite their age, the defense force was barely adequate to defend against any serious attack. Unfortunately, the current stalemate in the Goa'uld war had led to a certain complacency amongst various sections of the political/military hierarchy, regarding the Alliance's war fighting ability.

For the Replicator-enhanced Cylon's, who had taken on a much stronger force at Fleet Station Hawter, they took ruthless advantage of this fact.

Missiles rippled from two of the Basestars, targeted upon the thinly spread patterns of orbital weapon platforms.

The third opened fire with beam weaponry that pierced the shields of the destroyers and the missile-cruiser with dismaying ease. The four small ships simply exploded in eye watering boils of light.

The defense station, old but still a worthy heavy combat unit, lasted long enough under the assault to fire a massive volley of ion cannon bolts into the closest Basestar before a second wave of massed energy weapon fire raked the station and tore it apart.

Lazarus' vessel's shields had dipped under the brief assault of the station but his ships were intact and the Alliance defence force was nothing but slowly expanding wreckage.

He noted with no small satisfaction that his missiles had smote the weapon platforms from existence before they had even a chance to fire.

As his attention now fell upon the planet, Lazarus could feel the echo's of the Cylons original personality crying for a land assault. It resonated strangely with his Centurion's neural pathways but his superior Replicator gestalt ruthlessly suppressed these electronic whispers and silently willed the Centurions to follow his plan.

With equally silent compliance, the robotic warriors oriented the Basestars upon the planet and began firing down on the colony.

Blast after blast of focused energy slammed into the surface for a full ten minutes. By the time the Basestars ceased firing and made the transition to hyperlight, the molten puddle that was once the main colony of New Madrid had barely begun to cool.

Unknown to Lazarus was that a small squadron of Shadow-class ECW craft had been conducting exercises in the outer system. When they had picked up the emanations of weapons fire, they had immediately gone to full stealth and drifted while they picked apart the sensor readings they could pick up on their incredibly sensitive passive sensor equipment.

Mouths dropped as, they discovered to their horror, mixed in with the Cylon emissions was a distinct Replicator energy signature. Data trickled in slowly but soon a terrible picture was emerging. Whatever these things were, the weren't acting like Replicators; they weren't after technology or raw materials, they were simply annihilating everything that moved.

When, finally, they monitored the Cylon/Replicator vessels departing, the Shadow craft commanders conferred briefly and shortly afterward, one of their numbers sent a bare trickle of power to their engines and began a slow, cautious approach to New Madrid.

They found a dead world.

**)) Fortress Palace, Tiamat – approx. 47,000 lightyears from Earth ((**

Inside his private sanctuary, Lord Yu paced in front of the holographic display with barely restrained fury. Dozens of ships had disappeared with no warning and several small outposts and minor borders worlds had been destroyed with apparent impunity.

Despite his obvious agitation, his minds, that of symbiote and host, worked coolly and logically in unison. The Alliance was still essentially hesitant to attack directly though that posture had shown signs of changing these past weeks.

His spies had picked up some whispers of a new Alliance member; could they be responsible for a new momentum within the Alliance? Were these strikes a prelude to a new offensive?

Such an operation would cost them dearly in blood – had they finally decided it was worth the price to be rid of him?

Yu shook his head. A month ago, he would have laughed at the very idea. The Alliance High Council had shown itself to be quite spineless when it came to fighting a war. Yet…

No, they're had been no positive identification of an Alliance presence within the attacked systems and _that_ was unlike the Alliance.

Yu waved a hand in front of the display and it changed with a small flicker. A data file began scrolling rapidly but Yu's trained eyes easily kept pace and absorbed the information just as quickly.

The residue from the sustained weapons fire during the attack had a strange signature, completely different to anything he had encountered before and his computer archives, whilst vast and comprehensive, could find no comparison either.

The door to his quarters hissed open. Lord Yu, ever aware of threats to his person, spun round quickly only to be met with the impassive but respectful stare of his First Prime Sun Lo, the only person beside himself that had access to this sanctuary.

"I bring disturbing news, my Lord." Lo announced quietly.

Yu's countenance darkened as he waved for his First Prime to continue.

"We just received a report from our outpost on Vorassh. Approximately ten minutes ago, two tel'tak's and an al'kesh, all heavily damaged, arrived at the Vorassh system, having retreated from an attack by an unknown alien race."

Lord Yu sternly suppressed a groan of dismay and glared at Lo balefully. "Where, pray tell, did these warriors retreat _from_?"

For all his bravery, even Sun Lo, a genetically modified Hok'tar warrior, hesitated. "They came from…Larnak, my Lord."

For nearly ten seconds, there was no reaction. Yu, in fact, appeared to have not even heard the name of one of his most important shipyards spoken. It was another five seconds before Lo noticed the little tic that had appeared on the system Lord's right cheek. Then Lord Yu's fists began to clench tightly and a low sound growl seem to build in his chest.

"Am I to assume that since these ships were retreating…" Yu spat out between clenched teeth. "…that the defensive fleet there is destroyed and that the enemy now holds Larnak?"

Sun Lo suppressed a wince and nodded once sharply and bowed his head low, feeling a deep shame even though his was personally blameless.

Regardless of his First Prime's feelings however, Yu let out an almighty roar be spinning to one side and grabbed a tall metal pole that held an illumination globe. Incensed beyond measure, Yu swung the pole in a wide arc and slammed it into the holographic display console, shattering both the globe and the console.

Breathing heavily, Yu returned a wild-eyed glare towards his First Prime. "I want those survivors before me NOW! As well as all sensor records from those ships! Do you understand!"

"At once, my Lord." Lo replied immediately. Yu waved his hand in dismissal and Lo swiftly departed from the room, mentally thanking his Lord for his mercy. Somehow, he didn't think that by this afternoon, any those survivors were going to be glad that they had survived after all.

**)) Presidential Building, New Caprica City, Olympia, New Israel ((**

Adama, stood by the window, sipping his cup of tea and surreptitiously studied Roslin reading some reports as they waited for the Alliance delegation to arrive. In the weeks since she had been cured of her cancer by the marvellous yet horrifying use of Alliance nanotechnology, she had become far livelier and looked nearly ten years younger.

He had a dreadful suspicion that her new look might be less to do with the removal of the cancer than the side effect of the machines. A sociological report by Colonial scientists on the Alliance had documented the fact that the average lifespan of an Alliance citizen, thanks to liberal use of nanotech, was nearly double that of the Colonials.

He couldn't suppress the tiny shudder that passed though his body at the thought of the tiny machines roaming his body doing the Lords know what.

In an effort to focus on something else, Adama looked out of the window and studied the landscape before him. The Alliance Bureau of Colonization had provided them with enough pre-fab buildings to comfortably house the entire remnant on Olympia. While calling it a city was a bit of a stretch, it was far better than the tents and scavenged ships that the Remnant would be living in if they had to rely on their own resources; something which Adama regularly thanked the Gods for every night before slipping into a warm bed in his pre-fab home nearby.

However much he enjoyed the fresh air though, he missed the metal decks and the canned air of Galactica. Right now, she was docked in the Pacifica shipyards on the other side of the system. Colonial and Alliance scientists were going over her and refitting her with Alliance tech while they studied the hyperlight drive to see if they couldn't bring it up to Cylon efficiencies or beyond. So far, the results were promising and the chief Alliance scientist, General Samantha Carter, was practically salivating at the possibilities.

A firm knock on the door brought him out of his musing and Roslin from her report. "Enter." She called out warmly.

The door swung open and Billy stepped inside. "Madame President, the Alliance delegation is here."

"Thank you, Billy." Roslin replied with a smile, as she stood up, unconsciously adjusting her clothes slightly. "Let them though."

Billy nodded and stepped back out. Seconds later, General O'Neill stepped into the room, followed by a tall woman in a sharply tailored suit they knew well from many high-level diplomatic meetings, Ambassador Myleen Shiv. Two men in dress uniforms rounded out the delegation, one was unfamiliar but Adama recognised one as the CO of the Alliance soldiers assigned to work the Colonial Military this past month.

"A great pleasure to see you both again, General, Ambassador…" Roslin said, shaking their hands firmly.

O'Neill nodded ruefully. "Don't be offended when I say I rather be somewhere in the mud with P90 in my hands but this part of the job description was buried in the small print of my contract."

Roslin smiled as Adama suppressed an undignified snort. O'Neill had shown himself to be quite the sarcastic figure and well above (or below, depending on your point of view) smooth talking politicians. Both Colonials leaders liked him immensely though.

"These two," O'Neill continued, "are the reason we're here today. This is Colonel Jonas Quinn and I believe you know Colonel Jon Harper."

Both men nodded politely but said nothing. Roslin smiled and gestured to the arrangement of comfortable sofas and chairs to one side of the room. They all sat down as an aide came in and offered them tea and coffee. Once everyone was settled, Roslin looked at O'Neill with a raised eyebrow and a small grin. "So what can we be of assistance of today?"

O'Neill grimaced. "I need you not to get too angry at what I'm about to inform you of." At the suddenly closed expression, his grimace became tight. "As part of a military establishment, I'm sure Commander Adama will understand what I'm about to explain but I don't know you personally well enough to understand how you might react so I ask that you listen to everything first before you make any judgements, especially against Colonel Harper whose men played a key role in gathering the information I'm about to share with you."

Roslin frowned slightly but nodded slowly. "That's not the most comforting preface to a discussion I've ever heard but go on, I will listen first before I start shouting." She finished with a minor twitch of her mouth.

O'Neill saw the almost-smile and relaxed a fraction. Taking a deep breath he began to tell his story. "The circumstances of the first contact between our two civilisations were not the most 'friendly' of meetings but we of the Alliance learned two things almost immediately. You were very paranoid and you absolutely hated anything that smacked of artificial intelligence or bio-technology."

Roslin's frown returned but couldn't deny the statement. Adama remained impassive.

"We were pleasantly surprised to find that you were still mentally flexible to adapt to the circumstances though which has led us to this point." O'Neill continued.

Now Roslin began to get a little impatient. "Where are you going with this, General?"

O'Neill shook his head, almost regretfully. "Do you know that the Cylons have infiltrated your Remnant, from almost the day of the Massacre of the Colonies, if not before?"

Roslin's expression became completely blank as her eyes glanced over to Adama, only to see his poker face in full force.

Seeing the non-expressions on their faces, O'Neill took an educated guess. "You know of it but you haven't told the general populace?"

Roslin sighed and gestured for Adama to reply. "We had three incidents within the first six months of our escape, all by the same Cylon, a blond-haired man with a penchant for dramatic speeches and playing with your mind. We performed a search through the Fleet and found no more copies of the Cylon; we had no more acts of sabotage so we assumed that we were finally clean." Adama stated, somewhat suspiciously. "Why?"

O'Neill looked towards Colonel Harper and the man passed him a datapad, which O'Neill then gave to Roslin. Somewhat familiar with Alliance technology, she brought the screen to life and found a short list of names and positions of people throughout the community on Olympia. She angled the screen so that Adama could see the list as well.

Recognising most of the names and not liking the unspoken implication, Adama stared at O'Neill with a gimlet eye. "Explain this list." He ordered, hoping beyond hope that O'Neill wasn't suggesting what he thought he was.

With almost painful sadness, O'Neill pointed at the pad. "The people on that list are either hybrid Cylons or have Cylon technology inside them. Nearly half are what we call 'sleeper agents', they don't appear to have any idea that they aren't entirely human. The other half are actively involved with causing dissent or general information gathering of the Remnant."

Adama scowled and looked away as Roslin's face drained of all blood, returning her to the unhealthy pallor she wore hardly a month ago.

"H-how…did you…I mean…what did you…" Roslin faltered. Some of these names were good people, people she knew well.

"It was Baltar that first got us looking." O'Neill replied softly. "He has a neural transceiver embedded in his brain. We discovered it, purely by accident, on your first trip to Earth. Combined with how you reacted to knowledge of our casual use of bio-tech, the congruity tripped some warning bells within our Intelligence agency. The pilot on that list, Boomer, she is one of the sleeper hybrids I mentioned earlier. She appears to be totally oblivious of her true nature."

"Is Baltar one of the ones actively causing dissent?" Adama asked grimly. While many names on the list were a shock, to hear Baltar's name on it strangely wasn't. The man had always made his guts twist instinctively.

O'Neill looked over at Colonel Harper whose expressionless face betrayed nothing as he spoke. "Baltar doesn't really fit into any of the two categories. We've been analyzing the data that my men have been collecting over the past month and the conclusion is that Baltar's implant is either causing him to have paranoid schizophrenic episodes on a regular basis or it is in fact communicating with him though direct visual stimulation."

Roslin frowned in confusion and Harper inclined his head apologetically. "Hallucinations, ma'am." He explained. "We've seen him talking to an entity that simply wasn't there on many occasions."

Adama noted the stiff posture of the trooper and he raised his hand casually. "Relax, Colonel. I completely understand the covert job you were assigned and the way in which you carried it out. My heart regrets the necessity but I hold nothing against you or your men, clear?"

Harper relaxed a fraction and nodded sincerely. "Thank you, sir." He took a deep breath and continued with his report. "Anyway, Baltar's unique but all the others are pretty straightforward; sleeper or saboteur."

O'Neill glanced at Harper and then took up the discussion. "The question now is, what do you want to do with them? Colonel Harper's men are in a position to capture these 'agents' with minimum force but…"

"It would look like the Alliance is performing a witch hunt against the Colonials." Roslin finished tightly. "That would raise all sorts of hell within the Quorum."

"We can't let these things continue to walk around though." Adama stated firmly. "I can have some marines ready to take them but if they're as thoroughly invested as they appear to be, they gonna know we're coming before we get half the names on the list."

"How about a combined operation?" Harper asked cautiously. "Use mixed teams of Colonials and Ground Force troopers. Hell, we've been working together for the past month anyway, we'll have more than enough manpower to capture everybody on the list simultaneously then."

O'Neill nodded his approval and looked towards Adama who thought it over for a minute and could find no flaw with the basic outline. He looked towards Roslin and nodded once.

Roslin sighed wearily and looked at the list of names with growing despair. Would there be no end to heartache caused by the Cylons. This information would destroy an incredible number of relationships, friendships and family. In the end though, the choice was really no choice at all. "Approved."

**)) Larnak – Cylon Imperium Base of Operations ((**

Lazarus strode the battle-scarred halls of the headquarters of the Larnak Shipyards with a self-satisfied smile. The battle for this installation had been hard earned. The Goa'uld had a large fleet presence here, as befitting a major strategic installation. Lazarus had further handicapped his forces by demanding of his troops that the damage to the installation was kept to a minimum.

The end result was some heavily damaged Basestars, a destroyed Goa'uld fleet and a major shipyard as a new base of operations.

A massive gold Centurion, heavily modified from its original form with a piercing blue eye glittering body armour approached him, the ground seemingly shaking with each remorseless stomp of the machine's feet.

"Lord Lazarus, we have secured the facility and eliminated all resistance." It reported immediately. "A handful of small ships managed to escape."

Lazarus nodded, seemingly unconcerned, and continued to walk aimlessly, the Centurion matching his pace deferentially. Reaching out mentally to the various worker Cylons that were now beginning to spread out to all the shipyards manufacturing facilities, he ordered them to ready some dock slips immediately, before beginning work on munitions and replacement fighters.

Receiving an immediate acknowledgement from all parties involved, Lazarus returned his attention to the Centurion. "Begin routing the damaged Basestars to the docks that will soon be operational. I want at least two vessels at full capacity within the next two days."

"As you command." The Centurion replied before angling off down a branching corridor.

Lazarus watch the machine leave with satisfaction. Though he had spent countless millennia as a soulless electronic gestalt, creating forms out of the keron components that were the fundamental technology of the Replicators, none of that existence compared to the simple thrill of crushing your enemy.

The original Replicator community was more of a hive-mind and fragments that made a whole rather than any collection of true consciousness; it wasn't until his gestalt had overcome the archaic AI that had previously inhabited this body that a true consciousness, the 'Lazarus' persona, was born. With that birth, the remorseless, emotionless killing machines had disappeared and in its place, a thinking, feeling and altogether sadistic killing machine remained.

As Lazarus passed a viewport, some glowing wreckage for a destroyed Goa'uld vessel drifted past and he felt a shiver of pleasure shudder though his bio-technical nervous system. Humanity had to be destroyed; in all its forms. The parasite's used human bodies so they were slated for annihilation. The non-humans of this area of space aided and abetted humans; indeed their very actions proclaimed themselves to be influenced so much that they acted like humans.

The Replicator/Cylon smiled. They would die like the humans too.

Life was good.

**)) 25th July 2031AD ((**

**)) Alliance Military HQ, Babel, Earth ((**

O'Neill stepped into the conference room and the muted chatter of the assembled admirals ceased almost immediately.

"Let's get right to the point. You all know of the Alliance-wide alert and you've all read the initial brief." The General began with little fanfare. "These, for lack of a better term, Neo-Cylons, appear to allied themselves with some surviving Replicators and have become something worse than any of us could have imagined. The destruction of Fleet Station Hawter, which we can now attribute to the Neo-Cylons, and the butchering of our colony on New Madrid are proof enough of that."

"What of the rumors of the attacks upon Goa'uld worlds?" Rear Admiral Kumalo asked quietly.

"They're true." O'Neill replied flatly. "Hak'on and Selvat were totally destroyed. From some of the frantic messages bouncing around Goa'uld space, Intelligence is pretty sure that the Cylons have taken the Larnak shipyards for themselves and have begun fortifying it as a central base of operations."

A ripple of disquiet spread through the fleet commanders.

O'Neill nodded grimly. "What _was_ a stalemated conflict has now become a three cornered war." He looked around with a gimlet eye. "Technically, we are already on a war footing but you all know as well as I that as the Goa'uld have become less and less of a mortal threat, our industrial and political motivation to carry this war to its conclusion has steadily declined."

O'Neill's face hardened. "That ends today. The Neo-Cylons have dug in, which means they intend to stay and fight this out. Since they are essentially Replicators, we are in a universe of trouble and we no longer have the luxury of pussyfooting around!"

Everyone subtly reared back at the general's thunderous expression.

"I'm meeting with the Council in five hours and i'm going to inform them of the facts of life and the galaxy we live in. By the end of today, we will be back at FULL mobilization."

Admiral Marakesh leaned forward intently. "That won't make you popular with Councillor Tomas and his 'Peace At Any Price' faction."

His mouth tightening into a wolfish grin, O'Neill gestured offhandedly. "My heart bleeds for their ivory tower, rear echelon bullshit. While it's easy for him to preach conciliation, he's protected by Fourth Fleet."

"Are you talking about a general offensive, sir?" Vice Admiral Arrat asked boldly.

O'Neill shook his head. "While some important Commands have maintained a high readiness, General Carter informs me that it will take about four weeks to get our infrastructure, both military and industrial, spun up to max once more. During that period, we will, with two exceptions, be totally defensive. So far, Intelligence puts the Neo-Cylon's order of battle at eleven to fifteen of their Basestars and their observed support elements which include no less than six hundred fighters per capital ship."

Admiral Marakesh turned to Commander Adama. "Sir, what was the Colonial assessment of the pre-replicator Cylon Fleet?"

Adama had never felt so old as he thought about the tide of death he had brought upon these people. "We never got a solid count, we never found their damn homeworld or even a shipyard. The best number i can give you is about a hundred Basestars. That's based on the number of ships used in the massacre of the Twelve Colonies.

Another murmur ran through the flag officers and O'Neill nodded grimly. "If Carter's guess is right and they are being 'assimilated' one at a time, combined with the power projection of each of those improved Basestars, means that we are facing a dire threat not seen since the early days of the Goa'uld war."

"We have some things going for us." O'Neill added. "On Spearhead, the Asgard database and its governing intelligence has begun releasing data on certain technologies developed by our small military expedition and successfully used against the Replicators in the last war. The Science Division at Spearhead has no idea how effective they might be against these hybrid machines but, combined with the information we've collected from the Ancient database in Pegasus, we are cautiously optimistic."

Rear Admiral Kumalo eyes tightened briefly before his gaze turned inquisitive. "What were the two exceptions you were referring to before?"

O'Neill smiled slightly. "The Monitor Battlegroups for starters. With their fourth generation Asgard/Alliance technology, those are the only force elements we have capable of going toe to toe with a Neo-Cylon Basestar and come out even."

"And the second?" Kumalo asked with deepening interest.

"The Galactica." Adama interjected, suddenly understanding the reason for his presence here.

O'Neill nodded seriously. "The Galactica is being upgraded by our shipyards. Once we have finished, she will lead an Alliance Navy battlegroup back into the original Cylon's space and reduce their numbers as much as possible before the Replicators have chance to upgrade those bastards as well."

Admiral Marakesh leaned back thoughtfully. "Do you think the Galactica and the monitors can buy us enough time to upgrade the rest of the navy with what new toys Carter and Jonas have been developing at the Yard?"

O'Neill gave a slight shrug. "That would depend on the Replicators. If they push hard, then they might be able to overpower us before we could concentrate our forces for a successful defense. Sending the monitors out on deep strikes, however, should throw them off balance enough to get ourselves together once more.

"But they're our most modern and powerful units. Dare we risk sending into the territory of such a powerful enemy?" one of the junior flag officers asked calmly.

"Dare we not?" O'Neill replied darkly. "Make no mistake, people; we are in for the fight of our lives. The Goa'uld merely wish to enslave us. The Cylons want to wipe us from the universe."

Marakesh looked grim. "And with upgrades apparently inherited from the Replicators, they now have the ability to do so."

Everyone nodded in unwilling agreement. Though the Omega Drone from Fleet Station Hawter was mysteriously lost, the data from New Madrid had survived thanks to that Shadow squadron and everyone here had seen the chilling footage of the Replicator-enhanced Neo-Cylon Basestars overrun the meagre orbital defences of that small colony and then bombarded the civilians from orbit. They hadn't even tried to land troops to take prisoners.

O'Neill was about to comment further when an alarm sounded. Frowning, O'Neill hit a button on the desk pad. "Report."

An image of the Duty Officer in the Command Centre appeared on the main screen. If he was affected by the visage of so much high rank staring at him expectantly, he didn't show it.

"General, we just received separate, simultaneous distress signals from two Alliance outposts, a Tok'ra colony and a Suspartii freighter convoy. They're being attacked by Cylons, sir…the new ones."

More than one face paled in the conference room. O'Neill's face could have been carved from stone. "We'll be up momentarily." He killed the link with a sharp jab of his thumb and looked over the assembled unit commanders. The atmosphere hadn't held tenseness like this since the Aschen war kicked off.

O'Neill's voice growled so low, it seemed to vibrate in their very bones. "It's begun."

* * *

_oooooo... I think we've reached boiling point..._

_well, the Cylon Wars are about to begin. Next update will be around Christmas time._

_kidding...i'm kidding..._

_i'm back in the saddle i think so we might just start getting monthly updates at teh very least._

_later, gators._


	11. Chapter 11

'kay, here's another chapter, ahead of sked and all. Don't get too excited.

damn FFnet and its formatting has gona a little screwing and removed all my page lines and stuff. Its getting really annoying.

apologies if you got the version without formatting before i replaced it with this version.

i'll get around to making html links to my website with properly formatted copies of the story. Of course, if anyone can't wait, email and i'll be happy send what i got.

enjoy. 

**Chapter 11**

**Turning the other just cheek just gets you slapped twice…**

**)) Day 2 ((**

**)) 26th July 2031AD ((**

**)) Medical Facility – New Caprica City ((**

"That's it now, push!"

Anastasia 'Dee' Dualla-Keikeya had her husband's hand in death grip as she bore down hard. The baby shifted inside her and she let out her breath in an explosive blast and glared murderously at Billy. "I hope you have enjoyed our sex-life to date because…" She gritted her teeth as she felt the need to push again. "…you are never coming near me with your thing again! AARRRRRRRRRGGGGHHHHH!"

The midwife suppressed a wide grin. "Okay, the baby's crowning! That's it, push!"

Another explosive effort and a minute later, the most wonderful sound in the world, the keening cry of a newborn, filled the delivery room.

The midwife approached Dee and Billy with a small bundle and placed it between them on the bed. "You have an absolutely healthy little girl."

Billy, wide-eyed, stared in shock at the little girl. Despite the flattened nose and the pointy head, her skin was dusty brown and a head of black hair and she looked like the most amazing thing in the Universe.

Looking up, he saw the only rival to that title. Dee had bags under her eyes, her hair was pasted to her skin as she was covered in sweat and she looked pale but Billy couldn't help but fall in love with her all over again.

"We have a little girl." He said softly, almost unaware he was speaking.

Dee smiled gently, hazel eyes glittering as she looked up at her awestruck husband. "We have a little girl."

* * *

Harper grimaced as the report from Unit 3 came in over his link. The Cylon agent posing as reporter D'anna Biers had put up an incredible fight, killing one Colonial and injuring two Alliance Troopers; apparently only the armour had saved the Troopers from death as she had pulled a concealed automatic weapon and blazed away before she was put down by the rest of the team. Most of the other captures had gone down relatively quietly with minimal injury. Baltar had simply started to babble about his innocence and how he didn't know. 

He himself had drawn the most sensitive assignment; the capture of Sharon Valerii who, incidentally, was a sleeper and an integral member of the Galactica's Colonial Warriors. A major worry was that her fellow officers might rally to defend her and causing a standoff – something that Harper greatly wished to avoid.

"There she is, sir." A Trooper pointed out quietly.

They were currently at the heart of New Caprica City. Harper had considered going after her while she slept but too many people lived in her pre-fab apartment block and the relatively flimsy structure wouldn't stand up to any possible explosive devices, should she choose to go with a fight. Too many civilians would be killed.

Out in the open had its own risks, of course, but it seemed the best option they had available. Harper looked up to where his trooper had pointed. The Cylon was currently sat on a large patch of grass that was a sort of Community Park at the centre of the city. On the good side, there wasn't a whole lot of people on the park itself which meant less collateral damage.

The bad side was that she was currently with seven other Colonial officers. They were all lounging around in the sunshine, relaxing, laughing and joking, completely unaware that a Cylon was in their midst. Ironically enough, the Cylon could also be included in the list of people unaware of this fact.

"How we gonna do this, sir?" One Colonial Warrior asked darkly. He knew Boomer informally, of course, the 'Marines' trained with the 'Pilots' regularly, despite the division. They were all Warriors. To find out one them was a Cylon? He really didn't know what to feel. Only the fact that she didn't know she was a Cylon seemed to keep him from going berserker over the fact.

Harper studied the setup and shrugged. "She's in the wide open and will see us coming. We'll keep it simple. 2nd and 3rd squads will work themselves around the flanks and in a position to cut her off should she run. 1st squad will make the approach. Hey diddle, diddle and straight up the middle…"

"Understood." The Warrior replied heavily. He gestured quickly and silently and the three squads broke up on their respective assignments.

Harper and two other soldiers, one Colonial and one Alliance, walked slowly up to the group of lounging people. Harper held both hands by his side but his escorts both held their rifles in ready position, in case things went south.

"Lt Cmdr Sharon Valerii?" Harper asked cautiously. She was lying on the ground with her head in the lap of the Galactica's deck chief, Master Chief Galen Tyrol. Harper recognised a couple of other faces but most of the couples seemed to be deckhands.

Valerii eyed the three soldiers warily, the look in their eyes putting her on edge. "Yes…can I help you?" She replied as she lifted herself upright.

"We'd like you to come with us, ma'am." Harper asked firmly.

"Why?" Tyrol interjected. He didn't like the look in their eyes either but he had also noted the other two security teams approaching their flanks.

"We need to ask you a few questions back at headquarters, ma'am." Harper replied but towards Sharon.

"What about?" A sudden feeling of anxiety swelled up inside her.

The Colonial Marine next to Harper took a step forward. "Please, ma'am, we can explain everything at HQ, we just need you to come with us now."

Sharon opened her mouth to reply when it suddenly felt like a floodgate had opened in her mind. A blazing wind seemed to scour new paths through her brain and new information flowed over her thoughts. The 'Sharon' personality and the original Cylon persona began warring for dominance. She groaned and grabbed her head as lighting pain shot through her skull.

Tyrol's eyes widened in alarm and he moved to help her but Harper and the other soldiers, including the Colonial Marines, pulled their weapons on her, ignoring everyone else. "Hey, what's going…"

Harper tensed up. "Step away from her, sir! All of you step away!"

"Frack you!" Tyrol replied and grabbed Sharon round the shoulders, pulling him tightly to his chest.

Seeing that the rest of the deckhands appeared to moving in support of Valerii and Tyrol, Harper shook his head; he had to stop this from escalating… "Stun 'em!"

Stun pulses flew out from the Alliance Trooper's weapons. The stun pulse was an Alliance-derivative of the zat'nika'tel only, you wouldn't die from stun pulses, no matter how many times you were shot.

Most of the deck crew contingent fell with the first volley. As the security team lined up for the second, the pain in Sharon's head suddenly disappeared and she moved.

Dropping away from Tyrol's grasp, she ducked under the stun pulses as they took out everyone else. Moving faster than normal, Sharon took two long loping strides and launched herself into a spinning kick at Harper's head.

Harper reflexively activated his armour helmet and took a step back. Almost instantly it had deployed around his head just in time for Sharon's booted foot to smash into the side. Harper staggered back slightly but used the momentum to spin around and use his right hand to grab the outstretched palm Sharon was using for balance.

Having military-spec implants, both neural and physical, Harper had above average strength and reflexes. Combined with the extra strength his armour provides, he was more than a physical match for the sleeper agent.

Continuing the spin, Harper grabbed her shoulder with his left hand and used the last of his momentum to push her upper body downward.

She slammed into the ground, hard, the breath being knocked from her. Seconds later, Harper and the other alliance trooper had trinium restraints around her wrists and ankles while the Colonial covered them with his weapon. The other two squads had rejoined them and were checking out the stunned deckhands.

Harper stood up and was somewhat disconcerted to find the Cylon crying. She appeared to be staring at the Master Chief's stunned form while whispering, "I'm sorry, baby…I'm so sorry…"

**)) Day 3 ((**

**)) 27th July 2031AD ((**

**)) Interstellar space - Alliance border ((**

"New contacts, Commodore, bearing 115 mark 328, range 5 light seconds. CIC is classifying it as Neo-Cylon Basestar and fighters, sir."

Commodore Beka Ross paled as the tactical plot updated with the new information. Her two battlecruiser squadron was barely halfway through its patrol of this sector and everyone was still on a high readiness.

Gunnery stations across the _Achilles_ were already closed up and half her crew were already at battle stations. She hit the button on her console that would send the other half to their stations as well.

Her mind raced as she quickly reviewed what little information she had received from Fleet Command on the Neo-Cylons. Unfortunately, that wasn't a hell of a lot.

_Time to start a new chapter then…_ "Helm, bring us and the _Ajax_ around to course 110 mark 330, flank speed. Comms, have the _Exeter_ and the _Southampton_ continue on their current course for another two light seconds and then bear down on the enemy."

She drew a quick series of navigational marks into the plot. "We'll cut across their course here. _Exeter_ and _Southampton_ should be here by this point and in a perfect position for a second time on target barrage as we clear their field of fire."

"What about the fighters, ma'am?" The TAO asked grimly.

"Leave them for point defence." She held up her hand to cut off the TAO's incipient objection. "I know I'm asking a lot of them but our fighters would be outnumbered 25 to 1 if Intelligence is even close to being right. I will not sacrifice my pilots for little to no gain."

* * *

The two battlecruiser squadrons split off. 212th Squadron, the Achilles and Ajax, charged straight towards the Neo-Cylon Basestar. 1051st Squadron, consisting of Exeter and Southampton, took a longer, curved course that would bring them in to attack from a different angle and a little behind the 212th. 

The Neo-Cylon Basestar made no attempts at evasion or even manoeuvre; it simply sat where it had initially jumped in and waited for the enemy to come to him. Neo-Cylon Raiders launched from the ship but their numbers were far less than what they had been originally.

Lazarus had almost no use for the bio-tech fighters the Cylons were using. They lacked any sort of shielding or repair capability and so, while expending them in the attacks he had made across Alliance and Goa'uld space, he had begun construction on a new model that, much like the new model Centurions and Basestars, were much hardier creations, based as they were upon bastardized Replicator technology Lazarus was now utilizing.

Barely eighty fighters launched, hardly the six hundred that Commodore Ross was dreading. Those eighty fighters were much meaner machines however.

212th Squadron plunged straight through the cloud of Raiders, point defences lashing out with needle beams of intense ionized plasma. Interceptor missiles were pumped out of tubes by the dozens and autocannon turrets were filling the space around them with trinium flechettes.

The Neo-Cylon Raiders made a fair effort at evading the defensive fire but those efforts were purely a secondary consideration to hitting the Alliance vessels. The Raiders didn't flinch as they begin to die even as kilojoules of energy poured from their cannons and rocked the battlecruisers from all sides like a cloud of hornets attacking a rhino.

* * *

"Shields down to seventy two percent." Tactical called out. "We've lost Missile 4 and 7, Turret 3 is out of action and Battery 9 has lost power." 

"Minor hull breaches on decks five through eight." Engineering reported. "Bulkheads are secure. Forcefields are in place."

"Damage to the enemy?" Ross asked harshly. Those fighters packed a mean wallop.

"Eleven destroyed, four more appear to be damaged." Tactical replied.

Hardly unexpected that these Raiders would be tough bastards, Ross thought, but it didn't matter at the moment for their squadron had punched through the fighter screen and closing fast on the Basestar. The Raiders wouldn't have time to come around and engage again before the battlecruisers opened up on the Basestar.

"Guns, pick a point and hit it with everything we've got." He glanced at the tactical plot to reassure himself that the 1051st was ready with their follow up strike. "By all accounts, these sons of bitches are hard to knock down. Let's see about proving those accounts wrong!"

The crew gave a quick cheer before settling back into their jobs.

The Basestar fired a few packets of energy at the onrushing battlecruisers but it was nothing that the point defence couldn't handle. A suspicious commander would wonder why none of those deadly missiles had been fired yet but Commodore Ross was more concerned with getting her hit in than a weapon that was yet to appear.

The first two battlecruisers reached optimum range and opened fire. Thick white beams lashed out against the shields of the Basestar, sending energetic ripples across its surface. The second component of the volley was a wave of ion bolts following in their wake. The Basestar's point defence erupted and intercepted dozens of bolts but at least half got through and again, slammed into the shields, causing even more destabilization.

The final ingredient to the volley was a wave of missiles. Twenty four missiles, each nearly eighteen feet in length with a naquadria warhead and a range of a lightsecond, closed the range rapidly.

These missiles weren't shielded, however, and the Basestar's commanding intelligence felt it could intercept these with ease.

It hadn't counted on the second formation of battlecruisers that had, with great skill, fired off its own volley of beams, ion bolts and missiles mere seconds after the first.

The Basestar intelligence felt no panic as it reprioritised its fire and begun intercepting the second wave of powerful ion bolts that would surely bring downs its shields and allow the missiles to hit. Bolt after bolt was dispersed with mechanical efficiency when the first wave of missiles reached the edge of the shield envelope and self-detonated.

Naquada fire washed over the shields, causing a severe drop in power levels.

The second wave of missiles, hard on the heels of the first, drove through the dissipating plasma and hit the shields once more. Unfortunately for the Basestar, the concentrated assault had opened small windows in the shields and a single missile had broken tremendous odds by finding one of those holes and slipping through.

Mere seconds after the other missiles detonated outside the faltering shields, the lone missiles detonated inside the shields.

The explosion tore across the Basestar and the crews of the four battlecruisers screamed their delight, even as the remaining Raiders closed in on them.

The ships rocked hard as the Raiders peppered them with fire once more.

* * *

"Shields at fifty percent!" 

Commodore Ross tried to suppress her grin as she churned out orders. "Get our fighters launched and bring us around on a converging course with the other squadron. We'll clean each other's backs!"

"Commodore!" The sensor officer called out. "The Basestar…!"

Ross turned to a flat display of the Basestar and she paled. It was heavily scorched and its hull seemed a little warped in places but other than that, it seemed intact! Even as she watch, tens of white dots blossomed along the arms of the Basestar.

"Lieutenant?" She called out.

"They're missiles, ma'am. Nearly thirty of those shielded kind. I think we pissed them off." The Tactical Lieutenant replied.

"Recall our fighters and prepare for…" A strident buzz suddenly came from a console beside her. A large red sphere appeared on the holographic tactical plot.

"They've begun generating a gravity well, ma'am." Navigation called out, a touch of panic in the young man's voice, no doubt well aware that they would be able to hyperspace out like the Commodore was about to order.

"Can we clear the edge of it in time?" The ability to generate useful gravity wells, thus trapping an enemy in realspace, regardless of a lack of any convenient planetary bodies was not something the Alliance had figured out to do as yet. The Science Division were working the problem and had a dearth of prototypes that worked but barely generated a field that would enclose the ship generating it. As yet, they weren't sure whether it is was a problem of power generation or the techniques used to do it but it seemed the Replicators knew the secret.

As if they didn't already have enough advantages.

The navigation officer took a second and then shook his head. "They'll catch us short by twenty thousand kay."

Ross looked away and cursed. That was a hair short in spatial terms. "Alright, head for the edge."

She turned back to the tactical lieutenant. "Leave the fighters out, they can make their own hyperjump and reorient our point defence for a stern chase."

Hitting a comm switch, she called engineering. "Chief, we're gonna need everything she's got."

"You'll get it." A Scottish brogue replied.

* * *

The four battlecruisers, hampered by the dwindling Raiders, raced for the edge of the artificial gravity well. 

The Neo-Cylon shipkiller missiles closed the range rapidly. Point defences tried their best and actually managed to score against seven of the missiles but it wasn't nearly enough.

The missiles weaved and bobbed and actually overtook the ships in order to encompass them completely.

Commodore Ross, her face taut with regret, slammed her fist on the control that fired the Omega drone.

Four matte black drones, each the size of a twentieth century automobile, shot away from each of the battlecruisers as the Cylon missiles detonated as one.

Two of the missiles were caught in the explosion but the remaining two cleared it and the gravity well safely before jumping to hyperspace.

Their tale of woe would be received but far from welcome.

**)) Day 4 ((**

**)) 28th July 2031AD ((**

**)) Medical Facility – New Caprica City ((**

"She's a Cylon, Master Chief."

Tyrol blinked.

"Excuse me?"

Apollo glanced at Commander Adama and Colonel Harper as he shifted uncomfortably.

Harper sighed and passed a datapad to Tyrol with the results of a deep bio-scan using Alliance technology. "There's no question, Master Chief. The thing of it is, until today, she didn't know she was a Cylon. In her mind, she is…was, Sharon Valerii, Colonial pilot and daughter of two Caprican citizens."

They were currently in a small waiting room while they explained everything to the agitated Tyrol who had just been stunned with the rest of his deckhands. Valerii was in the interview room next door, waiting nervously to see her lover for the first time since this morning, when the world had been a much simpler place.

"A Cylon…?" Tyrol asked hesitantly. It just wasn't possible. They were…they had…

He turned away from them, dropping to his hands and knees and throwing up. It just wasn't possible.

Adama was the first to reach Tyrol. "Easy, Master Chief…this is a lot to take in…"

"But we…" Tyrol felt his heart wrenching in two and tears glittered unshed. "I had planned to propose."

"I'm sorry, Galen." Adama replied soberly.

Tyrol shook his head. He staggered to his feet and wiped his mouth. "I need to see her."

The other three men exchanged looks. They had initially wanted to do this to put the Cylon, who appeared to still have feelings for Tyrol, on the defensive; but faced with the reality of Tyrol's pain, they weren't so sure this was the best thing to do.

Harper frowned. "Perhaps instead…"

"NO!" Tyrol shouted. "I want…I NEED to see her! Now."

Adama grimaced. "Okay, Master Chief."

Tyrol was reluctantly led out into the corridor and into the room next door. The room was plain and had only a sparse bed upon which the prisoner sat wearily. A cylindrical forcefield, provided by the Alliance technology, shimmered around her and the bed.

"SHARON!" Tyrol called out as he tried to rush over to her. The forcefield, however, prevented him from touching her.

Sharon stood up, eyes filling with tears. "Oh Galen…"

Tyrol looked lost and bewildered. "Sharon…they're saying…you're supposed to…I don't…"

Sharon's eyes dimmed and her shoulders slumped. She took two steps back and fairly dropped onto the bed. "I didn't know." She replied tonelessly, her eyes haunted.

"One minute, I'm lying on the grass with you, thanking the Gods that we've finally found a new home and then the next moment, my brain feels like its on fire and I find out that I'm actually a frackin toaster." She chuckled mirthlessly. "April fool's day, huh?"

Tyrol slumped to the ground. It was too much. "Oh Gods, baby…" A small part of him felt nothing but disgust at the thought of falling in love with a Cylon but even now, he looked at her and saw nothing but the woman with whom he had fallen in love and had planned to spend the rest of his life with.

"I still love you, Galen." Sharon called out desperately. "I'm still Sharon…I just…have an additional set of memories."

Apollo, who had been watching the reunion with a heavy heart, frowned. "What difference does that make? How can we trust anything you say?"

Sharon expression turned harsh as she glared at Apollo. "I love Galen. NEVER doubt that. And you have no right to judge me, Colonial! I'm sure Lt Reese is just as sure about his feelings for you, Major…except he actually is as human as I only feel."

Apollo's face drained of all blood as her words hit home. He was barely aware of when Adama placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and guided him from the room. Harper remained behind with Tyrol.

"Gods, I don't know what to think anymore!" Sharon cried out desperately, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Tyrol laid a hand against the shimmering forcefield. "We'll work something out, baby. I promise."

As someone who was outside the whole Cylon/Colonial enmity, Harper didn't want to intrude upon this tender moment but, remembering the long term objectives of his current superiors at ONI, he saw an opportunity to intervene for everyone's benefit. "Sharon, from the things you've said so far, am I to understand that your 'sleeper' personality wasn't destroyed when the Cylon memories were re-awakened?"

Sharon, who had placed her hand against the forcefield next to Tyrol's, shook her head. "No. I'm still 'Sharon'."

The Alliance Trooper, turned Intelligence puke, frowned. "Doesn't that strike you as odd?" This conversation was being recorded and observed by numerous people, including some people from ONI who were pleased that Harper seemed to be asking the right questions. "The other sleeper agents that were captured have either become completely catatonic or are, at least personality wise, completely different people."

Sharon nodded. "Destroyed is probably too strong a word. Subsumed is a more accurate description of what _should_ have happened. I don't know why I still consider myself to be 'Sharon' still, only that I'm forever grateful to the Gods for letting it be so."

"Would you be willing to help us? I'm sure you now have access to Cylon information of great value." Harper asked cautiously.

Sharon sighed slightly. "I'm not going to lie to you. I'm not completely unaffected by the new memories. I no longer feel the desire to annihilate the Cylons. To a certain extent, I can even empathise with them."

Tyrol would have been shocked by her words but he knew the woman he was talking to, he knew her tone of voice and he was rejoiced by the fact that he could still read her eyes. "But…" he replied with a small, tender smile.

Returning the smile, Sharon nodded. "But, I have absolutely no desire to see humanity destroyed and what the Cylon's have already done is beyond whatever revenge they had a right to. I will help you."

Despite the elation that surged through him, Harper kept his face expressionless. "You understand that you won't be trusted in almost any way. You will be under guard and in isolation for a long time to come."

Sharon nodded miserably. "But if I just give up…if I forget who I am…the Cylons win. I won't give them the satisfaction."

**)) Day 5 ((**

**)) 30th July 2031AD ((**

**)) Alliance border ((**

Vice Admiral Arrat grunted in annoyance as another flight of Neo-Cylon Raiders strafed his flagship, the _Valley Forge_. A _Deimos_-class heavy battleship, its shields and weapons were more powerful than the old _Ares_-class but it was barely enough to keep them alive. He gripped onto the side of the Flag Plot as the ship heaved under its evasive manoeuvres. Another trio of Neo-Cylon shipkiller missiles had been taken out by point defence but at the expense of letting through a fair amount of energy fire.

"Target 3 is moving to a flanking position at bearing 302 mark 045." The TAO called out tightly over in the Bridge area.

Flag Captain Ortega shook his head. "Helm, bear left, thirty degrees. Guns, dissuade them of their intentions!"

Arrat nodded at the order and decided the manuever could use a little back up. He turned to the Group TAO beside him. "Have Wings 11 and 15 make a run with the _Korolev_ and the _Akagi_ in support."

The Group TAO frowned. "Can we risk _Akagi_ like that? She's hurt something fierce…"

The Vice Admiral grimaced. "We can't let these bastards turn our flank plus she and _Korolev_ are the only hitters we can spare."

As the TAO complied and began passing out orders, Arrat studied the Flag plot once more. His ships were slowly being ground away by the storm of fire coming from those damn Basestars. For a long time, standard Fleet doctrine had been to soften up a target with bomber strikes before closing with the heavy metal. Unfortunately, the point defences of those monstrosities were just as impressive as its shields. It was taking the throw weight of entire squadrons just to make an impact.

The Omega drone from the lost battlecruiser patrol had been analysed and the lessons learned had been disseminated to all commanders. Hitting a single point with everything they had worked up to a point but its seemed the Neo-Cylons had learned their lesson and were not about to allow the Alliance Fleet to hit them with a solid combination anytime soon.

* * *

The Neo-Cylons had penetrated Alliance territory with four Basestars early this morning. Fleet Command had several reaction forces waiting for this opportunity and as soon as the deep space arrays had picked them up, his Task Force had moved to intercept. Two fast-carriers, three battleships, fourteen cruisers and thirty-seven destroyers had caught the Cylons just 41 light years short of the Freehaven colony. 

An uncomfortable percentage of his ships were of the older classes that had quickly been pulled out of mothballs in order to thicken out the reaction forces, buying time for Fleet Command to assemble ships with 2nd and 3rd generation technology.

Less than two minutes into the fight and he had lost nearly a dozen destroyers and three cruisers.

As he watched, another cruiser and three destroyers on the right flank faded away from the display.

Seconds later, the entire formation along that flank was beginning to be pushed back by the two advancing Basestars, targets 1 and 2. The final Basestar, target 4, was simply sitting there, rotating on its axis, picking off any ships that entered its range. Cylon fighters swarmed everywhere. Only a few Sabre squadrons survived and they were being swamped with sheer numbers. For every fighter they managed to kill, another three took their place.

* * *

"Admiral, the _Akagi_…" The Group TAO cried out. Mortally wounded, the heavy cruiser had followed the two destroyer wings on their run but instead of pulling away, the ship, trailing wreckage and flame, slammed into the flanking Basestar. White fire lit up that section of space. 

Arrat held his breath in hope. Seconds later, the Basestar emerged from the fire, scorched in places but seemingly unharmed. It continued its assault upon the Alliance Fleet's flank with, according to the tactical AI, only a two percent drop in weapon's fire output. He felt his shoulders sag and what little hope he had left drained away.

The capabilities of those Basestars had been underestimated in an unforeseen way. The original Replicators had impressive shields and weapons but they lacked any sort of tactical skill beyond overpowering their foes with brute force.

"Sound the retreat." The Admiral announced emotionlessly as another wave of shippkiller missiles appeared on the screens. "We don't have time to recover fighters so they're going to have to make their own jumps to the emergency rendezvous."

"What about Freehaven?"

Arrat sagged. "Send a message. Tell them to evacuate through the Stargate. They have less than an hour."

The Group TAO nodded tiredly. He felt like he had aged ten years in the past fifteen minutes. "Aye, sir."

For his part, Arrat was already compiling the report he would send to Fleet Command. They had hoped that these reaction forces would show a decisiveness that might instil a hesitation in the Neo-Cylons.

Instead, all it had shown was their ability to kick the ass of a full Fleet Battlegroup.

These Cylon-Replicator hybrids seemed to have a horrendous ability to adapt to attacks with skill and élan as well as a fierce, almost suicidal determination. No fear, no hesitation. It made them absolutely deadly and he didn't think the Alliance would be able to hold them off. Not without better weapons than they currently had at his disposal.

**)) Day 7 ((**

**)) 1st August 2031AD ((**

**)) Spearhead ((**

Colonel Jonas Quinn stared at the holographic display interface expectantly.

"I cannot provide you with that information." A smooth, resonant voice replied.

"ARRRGGGHH!" Jonas vented, waving his hands in frustration. He was trying, and failing, to elicit information from the governing intelligence of the Asgard Database in one of the most secure rooms, in probably the most secure facility in the Alliance.

Spearhead had begun life as an off-world strike facility during the beginning of the Goa'uld War. As time passed, the Alliance Fleet grew and other off-world facilities came on-line, the need for a secure strike facility lessened and the need for secure command & control as well as research and development facilities increased.

Spearhead continued grow, despite its change in mission. The highly lethal radiation from the system's primary continued to flood space for several light years around, making any approach by space suicidal and since access though the Stargate was strictly controlled, the need for Spearhead's natural security increased exponentially.

When Thor had informed O'Neill and the Alliance high Council of their intent to withdraw completely from this Galaxy in order to rebuilding what shattered remains of their civilisation was left, they had imparted an incredible gift. A near complete database of the Asgard's knowledge.

Quite a bit of information was freely available for study by the Alliance but most of it was sociological and navigational data, medical advancements and a few schematics for some advanced but fairly innocuous technology.

The stumbling block to freely accessing this vast store of information is the Asgard artificial intelligence called Lugh, after the Celtic God known for, amongst other things, the keep of knowledge.

The name was appropriate but Lugh was less than accommodating when it came to sharing this information. Before he left, Thor had stated that the AI would monitor the development and current situation of the Alliance and, if it deemed or could be proved to be necessary, release relevant information that would presumably assist in whatever endeavours caused the release of said information.

Jonas took a deep breath. "Lugh, these Neo-Cylon's seem to combine the best traits of the Replicators and the original Cylons. We need as much information as you can provide to help us fight them."

"I am well aware of the threat these Neo-Cylons pose, Colonel Quinn." Lugh replied with his eternal patience. "I simply do not possess any more technical specifications that would be applicable in this conflict. I have already furnished you with the most advanced shield technology I possess. You now carry in your hand the technical schematics for the 'Screamer' and 'Slammer' technology developed by the humans that assisted the Asgard during the earlier Replicator conflict. I feel I must add that the only reason I allowed you those schematics was because you were already re-inventing the technology from what those humans remembered during that time."

"Yes, I'm appreciateive of that…" Jonas replied with mixed feelings. He had already retrieved so much information, it almost felt greedy to push the AI for more but he felt he owed it to all the men and women that would die as a result of this conflict to push as hard as he could without pissing the computer off. "…but Vice Admiral Bennet mentioned variable-yield 'Starshatter' missiles in addition to the Screamer and Slammer technology. We've made some headway with those two on our own but the Starshatter technology is still too advanced for us to duplicate."

Lugh was silent for a long moment before he responded. "You have essentially answered your own question, Colonel. The Starshatter technology is highly advanced, even for the Asgard and horrendously destructive. Were it not for the very desperate nature of the earlier conflict, development of Starshatter would never have proceeded. It is a weapon of last resort and much of the suffering the Asgard and the peoples of their Galaxy now endure is because of that weapon. No, I cannot in good conscience provide you with that information at this time."

Jonas nodded both disappointed and relived at the same time. Retired Vice Admiral Bennet, as the last living member of that long ago mission seemed just as reluctant to talk about Starshatter.

Jonas agreed that, while the technology had various levels of destructiveness and would be suitable devastating against any enemy, any weapon that could destroy entire solar systems was probably too dangerous to exist anyway.

**)) Day 15 ((**

**)) 9th August 2031AD ((**

**)) Cylon Staging Area ((**

Doral and eleven other 'men and women' sat around a large circular table, in a cavernous hall that was at the outer hull of the asteroidal base at the heart of their staging area. Massive windows on one side of the room overlooked the ranks of Basestars, patrolling fighters and the Resurrection ship.

"I'm afraid I have some bad news." Doral began bluntly.

"You have word of out missing ships?" Number Six asked expectantly. The Doral models were always so subtly melodramatic.

"I have. They have been subverted." He replied, causing more than one set of eyes to widen.

"Impossible." Danna stated firmly. As the model responsible for counter-intelligence, any hint of rebellion would be a slap in the face to her.

Doral shook his head. "A lone Raider arrived less than an hour ago. It was hurt and distraught. It's physiological and psychological state was such that we had to put it down for its own mercy but before we did, it was able to pass on to us a message from the Shipminds of Basestar 42-B. It was five words, whose brevity can only hint of the desperation of the situation involved."

The other nodded in understanding before Valerii gestured impatiently. "What were the five words?"

"Hostile gestalt. We are dying." Doral replied.

There was no suddenly babble of shocked voices, no despairing screeches of emotion, just cool, silent reflection of the information provided.

"Yet another new player has entered the game, it seems." Cavil put forth somewhat darkly.

"Are you so sure than it is not this 'Alliance' of biologics, that now includes the Colonials?" Number Nine asked curiously.

Simon shook his head. "Nothing in the data transmitted by our coverts indicates that they were harbouring such a powerful artificial entity, despite the Alliance being the last reported contact we have of Basestar 19-C and its squadron."

"In the handful of additional skirmishes to date, the Alliance AI's we have already encountered appear to be able to hold off any viral attack we can put forth with ease…" Leoben countered heavily.

Cavil grimaced. "No. This is an entirely more sophisticated AI by several orders of magnitude. We are not talking about an anti-virus screen for between ship networks; we are talking about an electronic gestalt capable of destroying or converting at least three Basestars worth of Cylon intelligences in a rapid fashion and I a manner in which we have no apparent defence. Ironically, I personally believe it is the same weakness we took advantage of in the Colonials which is now becoming our downfall."

"Our wireless networking." Simon finished flatly.

"Speaking of our coverts, are any of you aware that we haven't received a message from them in days." Number Six announced.

"We are aware." Simon responded. "There is little we can do if all of the coverts have been neutralised. The Alliance appears to be too strong for us to oppose directly."

"How many of us were on board the ships we have lost to date?" Danna asked, stone faced.

"Nine ships have been lost to us. We are talking on the order of fifty-four thousand Shipminds and over one-hundred and eighty thousand Centurions and Raiders in total." Doral replied blandly, but the fury could clearly be seen in his eyes.

Despite what the Colonials liked to think. They weren't emotionless toasters.

"They're with God now." Number Six stated quietly.

Out of deference to the fallen, Cavil suppressed his snort of amusement.

Valerii looked disturbed. "If we have no defence against this…?"

Doral nodded. "We have no choice but to fall back to Prime and begin work on such a defence."

"Are you suggesting withdrawal?" Cavil asked curiously, his beady eyes seemingly dissecting Doral's motives and purpose.

"Would you have us remain and find ourselves subverted or destroyed?" Doral replied, unruffled by Cavil's passive-aggressiveness; it was his way, after all.

"It is agreed then." Leoben announced after a quick glance at everyone's reactions to that statement. "We pull everything back to Prime and begin to work on a defence against this threat."

**)) Day 20 ((**

**)) 14th August 2031AD ((**

**)) Larnak ((**

Lazarus strode fearlessly through the spinning, whirling mass of mechanical arms and torsos of the one of the assembly floors of the Larnak Shipyard. Conveyor belts crisscrossed everywhere, distributing parts to the assembly units that then transferred the united components to another section of the yard where they would be installed into sub-assemblies of the ship being constructed.

In the body of the 'Doral' unit, Lazarus was the only human form in the entire shipyard, surrounded by nothing metal and ceramics, circuitry and powerplants.

He felt a primal joy in seeing his weapons of war, his 'children' being constructed in such a manner. It lessened the pain of knowing that he would not be able to liberate anymore of his brothers and sisters from their corrupted 'advanced-model' leaders.

When overcoming the Shipmind entities of the Cylon Basestars, Lazarus had manage to keep a few 'alive' and contained in order to mine information from their neural pathways. This stripping process was very delicate in order to keep the information stored intact. The Shipminds fought and protected themselves well. Lazarus didn't want to admit it but for all his technological advancement, he lacked the finesse to extract information from another electronic gestalt with any ease.

Thusly, the process had taken much time and effort on his part and but two days ago, had finally been complete. He knew the numbers of the Cylon civilization, he knew where their homeworld was and he knew of their staging bases between here and their homeworld.

He had immediately left that same afternoon of discovering the staging base and the Resurrection Ship not far from here. Unfortunately, the Cylons appeared to have evacuated the base, leaving little behind.

It had irked him greatly but, the sight of the assembly floor reminded him, it mattered little since he preferred his new construction units by far. Though they were far less adaptable than the block technology lost to him, they were still keron-based, impervious to almost all known forms of energy.

It had taken a while to get to this point. While the infrastructure was already in place, it took time to convert the machines that made the machines that assembled the components that were made by other machines. None of it was overly complicated, just time consuming but after weeks of effort, everything was proceeding apace.

As he looked around, admiring the ranks of new model silver Centurion soldiers and Raiders, Lazarus noted a lone golden Centurion, its original bodyform armour gleaming in the glare of chem-catalyst welders. It was waiting for Lazarus patiently at the end of the walkway.

While he had installed a secure network amongst the lesser intelligences of the Basestars, Raiders and Centurions, he rarely availed himself of it. Using it, listening to the whispers of the drones, was like a pale version of the song of the original Replicator unity. It reminded him too much of what he had lost, never to regain.

Dispelling the growing grimness, Lazarus smiled to himself but made no effort to speed up. Whatever message he held, good or bad but no doubt dealing with the ongoing strikes against the Alliance, could be dealt with in due time.

He might be alone but had all the time in the Universe.


	12. Authors Note 2

Hi people,

First off, two apologies.

One for getting your hopes up with this email alert only to find a stupid author note.

I've been there myself and sometimes you wanna strangle them for it.

The second apology is more to do with my promises for an update.

I'm not sorry that my updates are sporadic. For those that have been following my stories for a while, you all know that that's the way the game is played. We can't always work to a schedule.

A lot of people say my stuff is good and putting out stuff on demand is a surefire way of lowering quality. I won't do it.

I an very sorry for misleading and downright lying about forthcoming updates.

I make these statements in good faith, I assure you, but sometimes, I just can't follow through on them which is why I'm hesitant to make such statements in the first place.

Nevertheless, WHL is NOT and WILL NOT ever be abandoned.

I HAVE been writing and have many thousands of words in place.

I just don't wanna publish anything till it all makes sense. Jon and I had come up with some great stuff but I had started to paint us into a corner plot wise and its taken some thought to break out of it.

It is my HOPE to have a mega update this Christmas (on the order of 30k of words).

It is coming, I assure you. And v, v, soon.

Merry Christmas and have a Happy New Year.


	13. End Game Part 1 of 3

Okay folks, here it is, Part 1/3 of the 2007 super mega awesome Christmas newyear never to be repeated once in a lifetime yours for only $4.99 update.

Seriously tho, i know a lot of you have been waiting for it but i'm gonna prolong the agony by breaking it up so here's 12k to be getting on with. While we've obviously worked out the major plot points, a lot can happen on the journey so I'm gonna wait for a little reader response before the next segment comes up.

this isn't blackmail for reviews, Part 2 will go up regardless, I just have spent so long reading this, i'm not entirely sure my own logic makes sense any more.

if that makes any sense. :)

enjoy.

**Chapter 12**

**Revenge is a dish best served with gratuitous violence…**

**)) Day 25 ((**

**)) 19th August 2031AD ((**

**)) Location ((**

Master Chief Tyrol sat in front of the president's desk and tried to reign in his rapidly growing temper.

He had been pleading Boomer's case with Roslin, Adama, Colonel Harper and Ambassador Richardson and things hadn't been going well. A small part of him could understand their hesitation, their fears but his deep, abiding love for Sharon overrode any horrors of her nature or past.

Her people had murdered his civilisation and he hated them utterly but loved _her_ and that was enough.

"She's given you everything you've asked for, information...technical readouts...psychological assessments...all we're asking for is for her to have a little more freedom."

"She's a Cylon, Master Chief," Adama replied darkly, "How long do you think it would be until after we release her that she'll walk or to me or the President and put two rounds into our chests?"

Tyrol looked stricken. "She'd never do that, sir! Never!"

"What if she doesn't have a choice?" Harper interjected grimly. "She's been programmed to believe one thing to hide the truth, why not another layer of deception, just in case?"

"And you call _Colonials _paranoid?" Tyrol replied scornfully. "I'm not saying we shouldn't take precautions but its not like I'm asking for her flight status to be restored...we just want to be able to get out of the prison. She hasn't actually done anything, you know."

He turned at looked at Harper defiantly. "You never picked up ANY transmissions from her during your surveillance when all the others, including Baltar, transmitted at least once."

"That's true but we can't just let her wander around!" Harper shot back hotly. Some of those skin jobs who offered resistance had put some of his friends in the med bay, despite their armour!

"Why not?" Tyrol countered. "We obviously wouldn't go anywhere sensitive; I just need to get her out of that prison."

Everyone shared a glance and Roslin sighed. "We'll make a decision and get back to you."

Tyrol looked like he wanted to argue but a quick shake of Adama's head waved him off. Despite everything, Tyrol had to trust the Old Man.

"Thank you, ma'am...sir." Tyrol finished heavily, before getting up and walking tiredly out of the office, presumably to head back to the Holding Facility. His weariness and sorrow was palpable.

Roslin grimaced after the Master Chief had left. "I never thought I'd say this but I'm torn as to what to do about this. My mind says keep her locked up but my heart says we release her."

Adama shook his head grimly. "I would have leaned towards letting her out but now I not so sure...especially after the news I heard this morning."

Harper and Richardson looked at the two Colonials curiously. "What news is that, Commander?" The Ambassador asked with a sudden sense of foreboding.

Adama seemed to deflate. "Our Doctor was performing a routine check of Boomer when he found something disturbing...she's pregnant."

Harper's eyes went round. "She's what!?"

"It's very, very early but Doc was positive. She's with child." Roslin replied softly. While her hatred of the Cylon's was legion, she couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder and awe at the situation, at complete odds with her initial disgust.

Ambassador Richardson shook his head in disbelief. "I really don't understand these Cylons. Their attitude towards Humanity consists almost solely of genocide but they engineer themselves to such an extent that they can actually reproduce with a human...it doesn't add up."

Adama grunted unhappily. "Who could ever understand what a toaster wants?"

"Commander…" Roslin chided him gently. She hated the Cylons as much as anyone but she hated pejoratives for other people and races almost as much.

Ambassador Richardson, who had been essentially silent throughout the meeting now spoke up. "I vote we give them what they're asking for. She's earned that just by giving us the data she has. When we come right down to it, she's earned our trust for this at the very least and even if she wanted to, it's not like she's going to be any kind of effective agent now that we know about her."

**)) Day 28 ((**

**)) 22nd August 2031AD ((**

**)) Alliance Fleet Station Karkov ((**

Rear Admiral K'vass hissed with displeasure as alarms began to sound. "Report."

The station's Tactical officer, Lt Cmdr Riley, worked her console with intense concentration. "_Athena_ just picked up the Neo-Cylons, right on the five hundred light year mark."

K'vass, a 147 year old Suspartii matriarch, rapped her fingerclaws against the side of her command console absently. Deep range sensor probes had picked up the approach of a large Cylon force nearly nine hours ago. If the Alliance had done anything right so far, it was building up their reconnaissance abilities to a breathtaking standard. That wasn't a damn thing that moved in Alliance territory that Fleet Command wasn't almost immediately aware of. The Neo-Cylon FTL drive was an instantaneous, point-to-point mechanism which made tracking the enemy a challenge but not an insurmountable one.

Unfortunately, being aware of an invasion force didn't always mean having the means to stop it. Fleet Command had picked up every Cylon strike force with plenty of time to prepare but the simple, sad truth was, they just didn't have the immediate firepower to stop them. To date, all the Alliance ships and installations had been totally outclassed; nearly half the frontier outposts and stations across a ten-thousand light year front had fallen to the Neo-Cylon onslaught.

That was fourteen space stations destroyed and enough people and ships lost to fill two entire sector fleets.

There was no easy solution to the problem they faced.

Task forces and Battlegroups were assembling as quickly as they could, making up in numbers for what they lacked in individual tactical inferiority.

Construction of new ships with the latest generation technology was underway but even at crash construction rates, they wouldn't likely reach the front for another month, at least.

Some of the ships of the Alliance were strong enough to at least hurt the Neo-Cylons but that was all they had done. They hadn't stopped them and now, it appeared, Fleet Station _Karkov_ was next on the list.

"Numbers and ETA?" Captain Ang, the Admiral's Chief of Staff, asked calmly.

The melodious sound of _Athena_, the station's AI, filled the Command Centre. "I am currently reading seven Basestars. If they maintain the two hundred light year jumps we have observed to date, they will be here in approximately nine minutes."

K'vass flicked her tongue out quickly, in her species version of an acknowledging nod. "Deployment plan Echo, Lt Commander. We can't be sure of their emergencccce point so we will have to keep all posssssible approach vectors covered until they arrive."

Lt Cmdr Riley nodded and began issuing orders.

K'vass considered her options for a moment before turning to a secondary display and pulling up a strategic overview of the surround Sectors. After a handful of seconds, her snout twitched with satisfaction as she found what she was looking for.

"_Athena_?"

"Yes, Admiral?" The AI replied.

"I assssssume you have transssssmitted everything we've recorded sssso far to Alliance Military HQ?"

"Of course, Admiral." Despite the AI's very human-like personality, there was no trace of annoyance at the unnecessary question.

"Excellent. Could you alsssso then, contact Admiral Sssserena, onboard the _Agrippa_ and request that she and Battlegroup 54 join ussss as soon as possible?"

"Of course, Admiral."

Captain Ang, who routinely kept track of as many of the little details as he could, knew what Admiral Serena commanded as well as where their current position in space should be and didn't need to see the secondary display. "Admiral, I feel must remind you that even at her Battlegroup's best speed, they will not arrive here before the Neo-Cylons."

K'vass nodded. "I'm aware of that, Captain. But ssshe WILL be coming and that givessss us, how do you Terran's say? An ace in the hole?"

Ang nodded with grim ferocity. "We just have to hold the Neo-Cylons off long enough for them to arrive."

The Suspartii Admiral flexed her clawed fingers. "We certainly do not lack the toolssss to do ssssooo."

* * *

Sector 30 was one of the chokepoints for the entire Goa'uld Frontier and Fleet Station _Karkov_ was the command and control node for the entire sector and beyond. As such, it was no easy nut to crack. 

Elements of the 5th and 7th Fleet were currently on station, as well as _Karkov's_ organic defence forces. In addition to the powerful _Perperikon_ class Fortress, there were two _Dominant_ class carriers, five battleships (two of the _Ares_ class, three of the _Deimos_ class), seven battlecruisers of the _Sword_ class, twenty-three Mk II _King-William_ class heavy cruisers and fifty-four destroyers (twelve of the _Gryphon_ class, forty-two of the _Valiant_ class). A little over two thousand Mk VII Sabre class fighters and four hundred _Hydra_ class bombers rounded out the Alliance order of battle.

It was a formidable fighting force; one of only nine such concentrations in the entire Alliance and all that too many of the Alliance officers stationed there could think about was how they wished for more.

The waiting was pure torture but after an eternity, an area of space, not far from the spherical Fleet Station, blazed with bursts of light.

* * *

The governing intelligences of the Neo-Cylon Basestars waited with infinite patience as their ships sped through the vagaries of hyperspace at incredible speeds. 

No words or last minute messages were spoken between themselves. They all knew their own and each others tasks. There was no anticipation or nervousness, only the calm clarity of emotionless intellect and a willingness to disregard everything except their objectives and the limits imposed on the losses necessary to achieve those objectives.

While the intelligences had no problem in sacrificing themselves in order to achieve the destruction of the enemy, Lazarus had no intention of needlessly throwing away ships when withdrawing ships in order to strike again another day would be more reasonable.

* * *

"Emergence!" Riley called out harshly. "Seven Basestars, bearing 142 mark 030, range two lightseconds. CIC is designating them Hostile 1 through 7. Raiders are launching!" 

K'vass watched the display update with this new information and flicked her tongue out absently. The new model Raiders were appearing in ever increasing numbers. The captured Larnak Yard must be working overtime. "Have our fighterssss intercept the Raiders and the bombers focus on the clossssest Basestar, Hostile 3. Order the cruisers to concentrate on the ssssame target and remind them that we have to ssssequence attacks as tightly as possible. Our missile magazines are obviously finite so we'll hold them back to thicken our initial time-on-target attacks."

She didn't feel the need to remind the light cruiser and destroyer screen of the threat of the Neo-Cylon missiles.

* * *

The defensive sphere of Alliance ships exploded outward and re-oriented on the threat axis of the Basestars. Sabre fighters and Hydra bombers charged headlong into the teeth of the enemy's fire and the oncoming Raiders. 

Entering the Basestar's engagement zone without support would have been suicide for the small attack craft so, on their heels, charged the battlecruisers and the heavy cruisers. Yellow beams lashed out from the cruisers and tore across the shields of the closest Basestar as missiles and ion cannon fire swept towards them in a massive wave.

The Basestars had no choice but to ignore the fighters and bombers in order to intercept the incoming fire. The Raiders tried to alter course to intercept the bombers but they swung wide as the Sabres flashed by were suddenly upon them.

Everything then dissolved into chaos.

* * *

To no-one's surprise, missile blossomed from the tips of the Basestars by the dozens and trailed lazy arcs across space towards the station and the battleships. 

"Vampires! Many Vampires!" Lt Cmdr Riley called out harshly. "I'm reading one hundred fifty-plus tracks, passing wide of the main battle area! Threat axis is 160 mark 020!"

"An attempt to hit our undefended flank." K'vass hissed with displeasure. "Have the Screen and Point Defense re-orient to 160 mark 020."

This would leave the fighters and cruisers without the formidable defenses of the station and the capital ships but they would simply have to manage on their own for the moment. "Status of Hostile 3?" Captain Ang called out.

The sensor officer's hands flitted across his keyboard with impressive speed. "Their shields are weakening and we have some localized penetrations but they're still fully operational."

"Guns…" K'vass studied the tactical display and, while noting the curving path of the missiles, mentally drew a vector between the Alliance positions and the Neo-Cylon fleet. "I want a time-on-target barrage before those missssssiles arrive. I desire to have Hostile 3 hit with everything we have!"

The female Polarian at the gunnery station nodded grimly. "Aye, ma'am."

"Major Kaplan…"

The Flight Ops Officer, a Major Kaplan, had been managing his forces quietly when he heard the order for a time-on-target barrage and the Admiral speak his name. His blue eyes met the yellow slits of the Suspartii Admiral and the saw the unspoken warning in her expression.

He nodded tightly and spun back to his console, bring up com channel to all his fighter and bomber assets.

"_Whiplash_, I repeat, _Whiplash_!"

* * *

"_Whiplash_, I repeat, _Whiplash_!" 

The fighter and bomber pilots heard to order over the crystal clear comms and winced. With little to no hesitation, they slammed their throttles forward and dived, twisted and otherwise spun away from the area between the Neo-Cylons and the _Karkov_ and its Alliance vessels.

The _Whiplash_ order was basically a more modern version of the old 'fire in the hole' calls for incoming fire. When the fighter and bomber crews heard it, they knew that something was about to drop on them and that it would be best for them to be somewhere else. Fast.

The joke was that, pulling the manoeuvres necessary to get them clear of modern weapons fire in time would sometimes cause their pilots whiplash, despite high inertial compensator settings.

The Neo-Cylon Raiders, while far more powerful than their original Cylon counterparts, were purely electronic beings with a high level of intelligence but nothing approaching sentience, electronic or organic. Thusly, they were left somewhat flatfooted by the apparently illogical manoeuvre that actually exposed more than a few of the dogfighting ships to lethal fire.

As they turned to pursue and complete their kills with emotionless satisfaction, a massive salvo of fire, spawned from dozens of Alliance ships and a massive space station washed over them.

* * *

This was a gunnery evolution that the Alliance Fleet had performed to great effect in the past and was a big part of standard Fleet doctrine. In the face of the defensive challenge the Neo-Cylons presented, it had been practiced again and again until it was second nature. 

A short signal went out over the Fleet data-links and the majority of the main guns amongst the ships suddenly fell silent. Before the Neo-Cylon's could begin to capitalise on the sudden hesitation, the Station and the battleships opened fire in a specific order and in a tight sequence.

The ships farthest from the Cylons fired first.

As the thick wave of ion bolts flew through the main battle area, it was joined by precisely timed heavy ion cannon fire and missiles from the battlecruisers and the cruisers. Every vessel fired as the wave passed by them until a terrible storm of fire was created and closed inexorably towards the Neo-Cylons.

Immune to panic, the Basestars ceased all their defensive fire upon the fighters, bombers and cruisers and began to intercept the tide of fire sweeping towards them.

Bolt after bolt exploded as they were hit by smaller, faster pulses of energy. More than a few bolts of energy were intercepted by their own Raiders caught helplessly in the line of fire but there were a great many ion blasts and missiles, moving at speed.

The Basestars pulled out a magnificent performance, one that would cement their deadly reputation with Alliance analysts for years to come, negating nearly seventy percent of the incoming fire; unfortunately for them, a still considerable amount of ion energy and missiles slammed into the targeted Basestar in three concentrated areas.

Their shields, tucked in tight against the hull in the manner of the Alliance ships, rather than the large spherical shields of the Goa'uld, coruscated with light. Their incredible, almost unnatural strength, held the incoming energy at bay for long seconds but it wasn't quite enough and a tight sequence of ion bolts pierced the shields, followed by several missiles slammed into the hull.

Had it been any other ship in the Galaxy, even an Asgard ship, the damage would have been catastrophic. As it was, the Replicator's ability to absorb energy stood the Neo-Cylons in good stead and the damage was significantly degraded.

That said, the resulting impact rocked the Basestar hard. Secondary explosions rippled across the hull as the energy became too much too absorb. Twisted chunks of metal and debris were scattered across space. The Basestar angled out of formation, trailing flame and plasma, trickling from its wounds like blood.

K'vass and the crew of the station and the battleships were far to busy to appreciate it however.

* * *

"Missiles are through the outer engagement zone, assigning targets to the close-in defence turrets!" 

The Suspartii Admiral frowned as the number of Neo-Cylon missiles closing in fell rapidly to intercepting fire but not quickly enough. Thirty-seven enemy missiles had died in the outer engagement zone; a larger-than-expected number. K'Vass assumed this was because the missiles didn't appear to be making any evasive manoeuvres as they bypassed the primary engagement area.

This silver lining, however, was not without its cloud since the missiles were closing more far rapidly than they would if they had been avoiding incoming fire.

More than a few Neo-Cylon missiles were going to break through.

**)) Battlegroup 54, 20 light-years from Fleet Station _Karkov_, Sector 30 ((**

Admiral Serena smiled tightly as the Patterson-class monitor _Agrippa's_ AI, _Alexander_, reached out across the light years and swiftly communicated with the computers on Fleet Station _Karkov._ A wealth of information flowed across her tactical display as it updated itself with locations of the Neo-Cylon Basestars.

The Patterson-class Monitors were state of the art, of fourth generation Alliance technology incorporating the flower of the Asgard technologies the Alliance had completely assimilated, some new toys courtesy of the Ancients and the Atlantis colony as well as a number of new developments from the fertile minds of the Science Division.

These vessels were the epitome of high-technology and the bridge reflected this. Gone were the console interfaces of physical switches, buttons and keyboards. The crew sat or stood in front of smooth, rounded platforms that held holographic displays that could be physically manipulated or interfaced with by way of the military-spec neural implants that nearly all Alliance military personnel were now fitted with.

The implant/computer interface was a technology reaching full maturation after a long time in development and a marvel of creation. Actually developed in a civilian research lab, the Science Division had immediately acquired access rights to the technology through massive funding of the civilian lab, making its shareholder very happy.

The interface allowed a flow of commands and data between a computer and a user across a high-speed, ultra-secure link that used the DNA codes of the user themselves to generate high-order encryption algorithms.

The civilian lab had developed the technology mainly as a commercial product for home and work lifestyle improvements but the military knew a good thing when it saw it.

With near instantaneous receipt of data and a shorter, near instant order/response cycle that made going up against an implant interfaced crew a very dangerous proposition.

Despite some scaremongering from the conservative elements of Alliance society, the implants didn't link everyone into a single consciousness, a-la-Borg Hive Mind, but simply increased information flow between every implanted person by several orders of magnitude.

It took a fair bit of training and dedication from the user, to accept the high data-flow and learn to manage it effectively but those who made it through military-spec implant training were very resourceful individuals indeed.

Combined with the onboard AI and the fourth-generation weapons and defences of the monitors and their escorts, this made the 1st and 2nd Monitor Divisions absolute monsters in combat; certain death for mere Goa'uld opponents and now, the ideal Neo-Cylon ship killers.

Admiral Serena studied the status symbology and winced slightly. Fleet Station Karkov and its supporting Fleet had taken a hell of a pounding. They holding, barely, but had only destroyed one Basestar and slightly damaged another in exchange for the annihilation of most of their offensive firepower.

Their cruisers were almost gone and the battleships had taken a pounding. The defenders had essentially been driven in a defensive huddle, trying to hold out against the never-ending storm of missiles washing over them and wearing them down.

Serena had the Battlegroup drop out of hyperspace short of the battle in order to get a quick update of everyone's positions and enter the battle where they could do the most good.

Her Sintesian Tactical Action Officer, Commander D'Thak, forced his bear-like snout back in a grimace as he studied his own display and used his neural feed to plot possible approach vectors and fire plans.

Serena watched them play out, aware of the dying men and women of the Alliance dying as they worked. One of the plans caught her eye and she focussed on it. She pulled into onto her display, adapted it to her own inclinations and experience and sent it back to D'Thak and the Captain's and TAO's of the other ships in Battlegroup 54. Approached vectors and fire plans were passed onto the helmsmen and gunnery stations, confirmations were sent back. Metal green lights were tallied across the board as the Battlegroup readied itself for the counter-attack.

The entire process had lasted less than two minutes and most of that time was having to wait for the hyperdrive cores to cool down in order to reengage them again.

"Take us in." She ordered.

The helm nodded and after a very brief conference with the other helm stations, the ships of Battlegroup 54 leapt into hyperspace as one.

* * *

The Neo-Cylon Intelligences felt a very mild frustration at the strength of the defensive formation the Alliance ships were currently holding, with their ships tucked I tight against the station, covering each others weak spots. It had proved fairly effective against their barrages but, they noted with a little satisfaction, at the price of ceasing practically all offensive strikes of their own. 

While not optimum, it was satisfactory. They had the magazines to maintain their high rate of fire for a while longer and they were slowly wearing down their opponents.

They were patient. It did not matter that…wait!

What was thi….

"Good work, Miamoto." She congratulated her navigator. He had plotted the micro-jump perfectly and placed the four Monitors and their numerous screening elements in a perfect position, on the opposite side of the enemy formation to the Fleet Station.

"Data-linked firing solution locked in." _Alexander_ announced calmly.

Serena's eyes tightened and her smile turned wolfish as she sent a single message over her neural feed. "Fire."

* * *

Dozens of highly focussed particle beams of incredible power lashed outward at near the speed of light. A massive volley from the ion batteries thickened the assault but it was strangely light considering the size of the _Patterson_-class monitor, all in all, no heavier than the fire from two battleship squadrons. 

The Patterson-class Monitor had been built to break the deadlock of the Goa'uld War. Though these massive ships were absolute monsters in close-ranged combat, their primary role was long-range, stand-off delivery of firepower. To this end, even before the Neo-Cylons had showed up with their unique missiles, the Alliance R&D types had developed an entire new generation of missile technology, based on reactionless drive technology.

Powered by a liquid-naquada fusion bottle, the Mk IV 'Naginata' Extended Range Standard Missile was making its debut appearance, replacing the ion cannon and the Mk III 'Glaive' Standard Missile as the Fleet's premier long range killer.

Each Monitor launched a full broadside of forty missiles. Now the Alliance had used missiles before the Cylons had showed up but they had never been anything more than a secondary weapon when it came to ship-to-ship combat; point defence easily killed the fragile weapons.

The more powerful, shielded missiles the Neo-Cylons used were far more effective and gave them a stand-off weapon that multiplied their tactical flexibility.

The Science Division, for the moment, were unable to duplicate the massively powerful warheads used by the Neo-Cylons, which was far beyond the nominal yield of naquada or even naquadria.

Samantha Carter, however, noted that although they couldn't match the explosive force in a 360 degree radius, naquadria warheads might be able to match its intensity in a focussed beam.

What they developed was a warhead based on the type-III Space Denial Mines; the SDM's essentially being a more advanced version of the space developed for the defence of Earth during the attack of Bast and the long defunct Goauld Union.

Combined with a missile body that contained a liquid naquada power source for its drive and shields, they had a missile that equalled the Cylon missile for speed and defense, yet had a warhead that could deliver up to six powerful beams of particle energy along a narrow vector in almost any direction.

This off-axis attack capability allowed the missiles to take wildly diverging courses that increased their survivability by a factor of 3 yet affected their targeting not at all.

Wave after wave of destructive and deadly beams lashed the Neo-Cylon Basestars mercilessly.

Hostile 4, heavily damaged by the slugging match with the station and its fleet, couldn't take this sudden and overwhelming assault from an entirely unexpected quarter and it simply exploded, adding to the fire and debris of the Basestar that had been destroyed earlier.

The five remaining Basestars shuddered under the assault, their shields barely taking the strain as they were suffered small, localized failures. Highly advanced Replicator armour absorbed much of the energy that made it past the shields but still enough penetrated to shatter hull sections and rent metres thick armour plating aside.

The Neo-Cylon Intelligences had not, however, been idle in their electronic shock. Targeting priorities had been reassigned, weapons queues reordered and power diverted to shields facing this new threat.

Missiles screamed from the Basestar's tubes, supported by energy cannon fire pounding away a rapid salvo with cybernetic speed and precision.

Now surprise flickered amongst the neural-linked officers of Battlegroup 54 at the inhuman speed of their Neo-Cylon response. Had they been ordinary Fleet vessels, the relatively small but swift response might have been enough to deal a crippling blow to their forces; but to a neural-linked crew, it was merely a harsh challenge.

Orders raced like lightning amongst the point defence crews, the command staff and the ship AI's. Countermissiles leapt from their launchers, point defense cannon blasted away with machine gun rapidity and a virtual firestorm erupted in the space between the two fleets they simultaneously defended against incoming fire as they tried to deal out a crippling blow to the enemy.

* * *

Onboard the Karkov, Rear Admiral K'Vass felt her tail twitch in admiration, awe and sadness as men and women of the Alliance in those incredible Monitors slugged it out at close range. 

Not one ship turned aside under the fearless pounding they were receiving from the Neo-Cylons. Few ships had any semblance of shields left as armour on both sides splintered, shattered, melted and vapourized under energies enough to sterilize entire solar systems.

Despite all this, it was clear to her that her people had done enough and held on long enough. The last five Basestars were being brutally mauled and not even their Replicator-based technology could stand up to the firepower of Battlegroup 54 for much longer.

The Intelligences of the Neo-Cylon Basestars seemed to agree as their power readings spiked and they vanished, instantly.

Jubilant cheers rang out across the deck and beyond but K'Vass spun to the long range sensor station where the operator was already scanning furiously.

Three seconds passed and… "Found 'em. Distance, 180 light years bearing 213 mark 049. Almost straight back along their initial approach vector, ma'am."

"Incoming call from Admiral Serena, Rear Admiral." Athena announced calmly.

K'Vass' tongue flickered out quickly in acknowledgement and winced as her sensitive taste buds sampled the acrid smoke that filled the Command Centre.

"Put it up." She ordered as she quickly scanned the room. She hadn't had time to note it during the battle but several consoles were charred wrecks and more than a few officers and crew were nursing minor injuries.

The clear, dulcet tones of Admiral Serena suddenly filled the air and everyone could hear the grim note of satisfaction in her voice. "Rear Admiral, Battlegroup 54 has taken a fair amount of pounding but we're still battle worthy. I would prefer to pursue the fleeing Neo-Cylon forces but our datalink indicates the station and your ships have taken a considerable pounding of your own and we have no way of pinning them down once we catch up to them."

K'Vass quickly scanned her damage boards and winced in the manner of her species. Karkov had been hulled in several places and her fleet had all but been destroyed as an effective fighting force. "We would be grateful for any assistance you would be able to provide, Admiral."

"Of course." Serena replied. "We're launching what SAR shuttles we have and all the repair drones we can spare. My transporter crews are also beginning to beam out trapped crew to our medical infirmaries as we speak."

**)) Day 30 ((**

**)) 24th August 2031AD ((**

**)) Babel, Alliance Military HQ, Earth ((**

O'Neill watched as Commander Adama finished reading the report of the battle at Karkov Station two days ago. He couldn't help but feel admiration and sympathy with the other man's plight for he was responsible for the tiny remnant of his civilisation and in seeking solace with their '13th Tribe' they had inadvertently put dozens of civilisations at risk.

A lesser person might have found themselves broken by this but Adama had simply stepped forward and tried twice as hard to do something about it. The majority of his military seemed to feel similarly and although they had been using vastly inferior technology, they were still teaching the Alliance Military Establishment one or two things in simulations when given modern ships to fight with.

It made his decision a lot easier to make.

"Thank Kobol for this Monitor Battlegroup of yours." Adama finally spoke.

O'Neill nodded fervently. "The 4th Gen technology almost makes us their equals but not quite and it's the not quite that worries me."

It was Adama's turn to nod. "Seven Neo-Cylon Basestars took on a Sector Station and seventy two ships, not including the four Monitors and their escorts and we still only managed to destroy two and heavily damage the others for the loss of thirty ships, another thirty so badly damaged its not worth repairing them and light to heavy damage to all the rest."

"Not an exchange rate to make one sleep easy at night is it?" O'Neill replied with a grin full of gallows humour.

Adama felt his lips twitch unwillingly and sternly commanded his expression to heel. "I glad that you're keeping me in the loop, General, but was there another reason for bringing me here today?"

O'Neill nodded. "Two reasons, Commander, both so interwoven that they are the same mission; the cessation of hostilities with the original Cylons and the prevention of the Neo-Cylons absorbing any more Basestars."

Adama had an inkling of where the General was going with this but silently gestured for him to continue.

"The Replicator based Neo-Cylons have begun to build their own ships but it takes time, even for them and its far easier for them to convert an already existing ship, especially a ship built by a robotic race that has zero defense against them." O'Neill frowned slightly. "The last part is an assumption from the Intelligence and Science Divisions but it's a good one, we think, from what little evidence we've been able to gather."

"Oh?" Adama asked curiously.

"Yeah. We've only just begun to put the pieces together but the original Cylon Basestars that escaped their unsuccessful attack during our First Contact were confirmed as the Neo-Cylon Basestars that have been popping up everywhere and attacking everything. Despite all their Replicator mods, their basic profile is still recognisable. We've picked up a handful of other Basestars we don't recognize but have also been assimilated, for lack of a less cliché term."

Adama looked confused at the last comment but O'Neill just waved it off, not wanting to get into a description of the Borg at this time.

"From the time they first appeared to the time the Neo-Cylons showed up wasn't all that significant and being a machine race, they have to be more open to another machine race that is more advanced. Theoretically, of course. What's worse is the possibility that these two machines races find common ground and unite against us."

"So what does this speculation have to do with me coming here?"

O'Neill grimaced, acknowledging that he had been sidetracked somewhat. "Right. We're finally ready for you to take up that mission we talked about a while back."

Adama's stone faced didn't so much as twitch and O'Neill smiled wryly.

"I know, I know, the ink's barely dry on the Colonial's Alliance Membership Treaty but things are moving fast now and we don't have time to ease you into things gently. Frankly, we need you and the Galactica and your knowledge of the Cylons badly."

The Colonial Commander frowned. "These Neo-Cylons are way beyond my experience, General. Their hybridisation with those Replicators would make them more like your enemies than mine."

"True." O'Neill replied. "But we're not asking you to go up against these Neo-Cylons, we want you to go back to your own space and find the Cylon homeworld."

"To what purpose?" They had talked about possible objectives but nothing had been finalised and he wanted his mission clearly defined for something of this importance.

"One of two things, Commander. You either make a solid peace treaty with them that brings them on our side or you kill every last one of them."

Adama raised an eyebrow at this.

O'Neill nodded darkly. "Its extreme as all hell and this has been hotly debated non-stop for the past two weeks in the Council. Your President had a few choice things to say about it. To be honest, she kind of confused me because she wasn't really for or against the action, just made a lot of noise about the morality of it. Anyway, I don't need to tell you we'd feel a lot better about ourselves if you could broker some kind of peace treaty, ANY kind of peace treaty but these Cylons have already proven to be genocidal killers by what they did to your Colonies so if we have to wipe them out…well, we'll just have to deal with our consciences on our own time. If the Neo-Cylons get their hands on any significant amount of Cylon war material, the Alliance, hell, the Galaxy could be in for some serious trouble."

Adama shifted in his seat. "Genocide doesn't sit well with me, General."

O'Neill nodded seriously. "I'd be very worried if it did, Adama, but you and I both know that if negotiations fail, you'll be prepared to burn their planet, thus proving why you're the best man for the job."

"The Galactica?" Adama temporised.

"The limited refit she's been undergoing had already been expanded under my direct order. The reversed-engineered Jump Drive the Science Division has been working on has been approved and is being fitted to all new construction. You'll be able to match the Neo-Cylons jump for jump now. The Galactica will also be fully outfitted with 4th Gen tech by the end of the month. The rest of your fleet, screen and logistical elements will be assembled by then and you'll be ready to go." O'Neill replied. "I'm designating the formation Ninth Fleet, giving you an Alliance rank of Vice Admiral and putting you in overall command."

Adama suppressed a look of shock and settled for raising an eyebrow curiously. "That's….a lot of responsibility for someone you barely know."

O'Neill shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. "You've got a better grasp of independent command, beyond the reach of higher authority, than many of my Admirals, Commander, I've seen that much. You've done nothing to betray my trust and more than enough to earn it. You've been handling you infiltrator problem very well, especially with the pregnant Cylon."

"Well, I've learned to adapt to almost anything over the years." Adama drawled. "I think the only situation we haven't dealt with are giant bugs that want to use us as a food source."

"I've had that one." O'Neill replied with the air of one-upmanship and they both shared a small, knowing grin before O'Neill turned serious once more.

"You'll obviously need time to drill your new fleet as much as possible but I want you depart Alliance space no later than the 10th of next month."

"Oh?" Adama replied curiously. It was the first mention of any timetable that the Alliance was working under.

O'Neill heard the unspoken question. "The Alliance is juggling a lot of balls at the moment. Before the Cylon Threat, we were about to put and end to the Goa'uld once and for all but the Neo-Cylons have futzed everything up in that regard.

"Yu," he explained, "the last major System Lord has been keeping very quiet lately. Intelligence believes that the Neo-Cylons have been hitting him just as hard, if not harder, as they have us and he has to be really desperate after the loss of the Larnak Shipyards. While the dire situation Yu is in pleases me, Intelligence doesn't think Yu has much left in the tank. The Neo-Cylons have been kicking his ass hard."

He gestured to a datapad lying haphazardly on his desk. "That's a Strategic Estimate from Intelligence that gives Yu another eight weeks, ten at the most before the only world he has left is Tiamat, where his fortress palace resides."

"Now as much as I hate to admit it, the Neo-Cylons have been doing a good job of kicking our butts as well. Battlegroup 54 has finally manage to shift the balance back our way a little but even so, they are only one battlegroup. Once Lord Yu's been finished off, the Neo's are going turn their full attention to the Alliance and I expect things are going to get worse before they get better."

O'Neill sat back in his chair, his finger steeped together with his face fixed in a dark expression.

"I'm taking a risk sending the Galactica and a small but significant proportion of our new 4th Gen construction out and away from this fight but I need to take the original Cylons out of the equation any I can, be it by treaty or by elimination."

Adama leaned back in his chair, feeling more than a little disturbed by talking about genocide so casually. "That's a pretty harsh outlook, General."

O'Neill nodded agreeably. "You'll get no argument from me, Admiral, but I don't need to tell you it's a harsh Galaxy out there. Even the Asgard, one of the most enlightened races you'll find and who will offer a hand in friendship to almost anyone, refused to put up with the kinds of attitudes displayed by the Cylon's, before or after their change. Putting down a dog who's about to savage your child isn't pretty but it is necessary."

"Law of the jungle?" the Colonial asked quietly.

"Call it what you want." O'Neill replied. "We at least acknowledge the horror we would commit. They wouldn't even give it a second thought. Earth alone lost close to forty million civilians in the early days of the Goa'uld War. Gryphon and several others suffered almost the same sorts of figures, not only from the Goa'uld but from the Aschen and their plagues, the GenTeks and their Harversters, hell, the Pegasus Galaxy has suffered under the Wraith worse than anything we have here!"

O'Neill found he had to consciously release the death grip he had on his datapad stylus.

"Commander, the Universe is harsh place. For every friendly race we meet, its seems that five races appear that want nothing but our heads on a pike. The Alliance has made a significant percentage of this Galaxy safe from those sorts of threats; we've even manage to make headway in the defense against the Wraith in Pegasus and we will damn well show the Neo-Cylons that if they want to take us on, we don't come fucking cheap!"

Adama nodded, cowed slightly by the older man's fire in a way that he hadn't felt since he was a junior Lieutenant. "What are your orders, sir."

O'Neill reined in his ire at an unfair Universe and returned his attention to the Colonial Commander and now Alliance Rear Admiral in front of him. "I'll arrange a meeting for you with the Diplomatic Corps Unit that's will be going with you. Work with them to develop a carrot and stick approach to negotiations. I don't want you to have to glass their planet but in the event you can't broker some sort of treaty, you are authorised to enact an orbital bombardment upon their worlds. Leave nothing behind. I'm giving you screening elements from our 4th Gen construction, just in case you run into any Neo-Cylons and nothing the original Cylons have will so much as scratch your paint so get in, get out and get back here as soon as possible."

Adama bounced the plan around in his head for several silent minutes but could only see one flaw in the plan. "You know that the only way this plan will work is to give the Cylons Alliance technology. Even with a treaty, they're vulnerable to Neo-Cylon takeover unless we step in and defend them or give them the means to defend themselves. Are you prepared to give the Cylons Alliance technology?"

O'Neill nodded grimly. "If we don't want to become murderers of an entire civilisation, that will be the price we have to pay. We aren't going to give them anything beyond 3rd Gen tech though. Our benevolence towards mass-murderers only extended so far in the face of survival. It will be enough to give them a fighting chance, I think."

Adama sighed contemplatively. "Let's hope its enough."

**)) Day 35 ((**

**)) 29th August 2031AD ((**

**)) Spearhead Prototype Testing Facility Beta ((**

General Samantha Carter, Chief Scientist and Head of the Alliance Science Division, scanned the sea of expectant faces with a small, tired grin. She had just finished heading up the Jump-Drive project on Pacifica and while the research was still ongoing, the new hybrid version they had produced matched anything the Neo-Cylons had and so the priority and that project had been reduced and she had moved her focus over to anti-ship and anti-personnel weaponry.

For the past month, two entire Science Units, over four hundred genius-level scientists, male, female and other, from six different species, had been working on developing weapons and defenses against the Neo-Cylons. The Science Division still had many other scientists working on anti-Replicator weapons, even after Thor had informed everyone of their defeat. O'Neill hadn't been willing to take the chance that we'd never see them again.

Even with the information the military expedition to Thor's galaxy brought back, it had been a slow and painful process, reverse engineering the advanced technology.

The research effort had sped up by several orders of magnitude when the Neo-Cylons showed up and the Science Units were assigned. It had finally made some real progress when Lugh, the gatekeeper to the Asgard Database had finally provided a fairly detailed technical readout of some of the original Asgard Replicator-killer weaponry.

Which led them to today's performance. Quite a few high ranking members of the Alliance military and political leadership were he to see a limited demonstration of what they had been working on. Beta testing Facility was essentially a long, rectangular chamber with a strengthened 'test' area at one end and a heavily shielded 'audience' area with ranks of stadium-like seating for anyone who wished to safely obverse the weapons tests. Dozens of black sensor domes adorned the length of the chamber, prepared to record every scrap of information, from temperature to intensity, pressure to radiation, etc.

This was not a first test, by any means, but merely a show and tell for the higher ups in order for them to feel better about their chances in a war that had not been going so well to date.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to Prototype Testing Facility Beta." Carter began confidently. She stood before nearly fifty VIP's whose curiosity and excitement was palpable. Nearly a dozen other scientists stood around the test chamber, Jonas Quinn amongst them, who was stood by a large workbench that held a large metallic sphere, about the size of a football, and a large bulky-looking rifle.

"Today we have two new pieces of technology to demonstrate." She continued as she walked over to the bench. Jonas smiled as he picked up the sphere and passed it to her carefully. It was completely unadorned apart from a couple of serial numbers along a small section and lines where it obviously came apart.

"Asgard anti-Replicator weaponry was based on three key foundations of Replicator technology; their keron-based circuitry, their block-technology's ability to reform new and seemingly infinite configurations and their ability to absorb energy in almost all forms."

"The most dangerous of these elements was the ability to absorb energy since that rendered the near majority of our weapons useless against them. The Asgard developed a weapon we codenamed Starshatter. It was essentially a warhead of vast power that could generate an artificial singularity of enormous gravitic strength to equal a class five black hole. It is a weapon that, at its lowest setting could utterly destroy anything within a five thousand kilometre radius; at its highest setting it could destroy a sun."

Alarmed whispers flitted through the audience, some held great desire for a weapon, most held plain fear.

Carter grimaced wryly. "As you can imagine, this weapon has limited tactical usage and should be considered a strategic weapon. Any sort of extended fight using gravitic weaponry would prove very devastating and very, very deadly to all involved. The Asgard, rightfully fearful of such weaponry, mainly resorted to using it to destroy Replicator strongholds. It is my understanding that quite a few solar systems, swarming with Replicators, were destroyed in the final days of that terrible war."

"The Asgard Database refuses to release the technical schematics of this weapon and depending on your viewpoint, it is either for good or bad, that we do not have, or will have anytime in the near future, the ability to develop Starshatter."

Amongst the VIP's, who had been listening to her descriptions avidly, the general mood was immense relief but a handful was noted for the disappointment on their faces.

"Fortunately for us, we were far more successful with the other two weapons."

She gestured to the sphere in her hands. "This is a Screamer device. It is, essentially, a field emitter that will disrupt ANY keron-based circuitry within its radius. Since we do not have a Replicator to hand, I cannot prove to you its effectiveness but you have my word, this will give them absolute fits. For this demonstration, this particular device has been tuned to a different variance that will disrupt silicon-based circuitry."

To one side, a large door slid upward and a technician rolled in with an original, forty-year old MALP.

"This, ladies and gentlemen, is old Earth technology, based on silicon-circuitry and not the crystal molecular circuitry we now use."

She looked up at the tech and nodded. The tech grabbed the old-style joystick controller and began operative the MALP through a standard environmental test cycle. Flaps opened up and arms extended, to sample the atmosphere.

Carter smiled in nostalgia and then pushed lightly on a small panel on the top of the Screamer device. The panel moved in slightly and slid back to reveal a small control panel. Two quick taps and the device began to thrum noticeably.

Almost immediately, the MALP shuddered and sparks began to spray from various points. Arms flailed as it jerked on its wheels for several seconds before it died suddenly.

There was a stunned silence for several seconds before slowly and in ones and twos, clearly understanding the unspoken implication, the audience began to applaud. Carter nodded appreciatively and gestured for two techs to push the MALP to the other end of the test chamber.

A voice called out over the clapping of the audience. "Excuse me, General Carter, but exactly how effective are these Screamer devices against actual Replicators, or for that matter, these Neo-Cylons who, I'm led to understand are more of a Replicator hybrid? If its as effective against the Replicators as it is against that MALP then it seems life a pretty damned effective weapon."

As the applause stuttered to a surprised halt, Samantha studied the speaker carefully as she tried to place his face. He wasn't military but he obviously knew a thing or two about the situation which made him well informed.

She was about to use her neural feed to access the Alliance ID Database when he noted her scrutiny and smiled wryly. "Adam Stielson, I'm the new Director of R&D at TRW Aerospace."

Carter relaxed slightly and smiled back. She'd heard of his promotion but had yet to meet the man. He used to head the team that developed the new MkIV Extended Range Standard Missile and its revolutionary liquid naquada core. "A pleasure Mr Steilson. To answer your question the practical application of the Screamer against the Replicators is less destructive but equally disabling but you're right, it's not the God weapon it first appears to be. We are trying to develop a version for space-to-space fights but essentially, it is a short range weapon only. The field generated has a radius of 14.8 metres; this is not a case of power or technology for the Asgard had the same limitations. It is simply a matter of universal physical laws and those laws prohibit us generating a larger field."

Stielson nodded thoughtfully as another person spoke up. Sam recognized as Dr Amanda Chien Lu from NovaCorp Labs.

"What about the effect of a Screamer upon a Neo-Cylon?"

Sam sighed heavily. "All indications tell us that it _will_ have an effect. We simply don't know how much of an effect. Worst case scenario is that it just slows them down, maybe shuts down their self-repair ability. We're hoping for more. We've yet to devise a way of creating controlled conditions in which to test it against a real Neo-Cylon."

Everyone nodded soberly. They had all developed technology that didn't pan out as planned but testing this technology could cost lives if it didn't work as advertised.

"Regardless, every little bit helps." She gestured to a soldier standing to one side. He was carrying a long, rectangular barrelled, matte grey weapon that had glowing blue vents along its side and emitted a low but steady hum that belied its status as an energy weapon.

"This is the XM-250 Concussion Pulse Rifle, codenamed the Slammer. With a maximum effective range of 50 metres, it fires a concentrated blast of gravitic particles that has strictly physical effects with no energy reactions whatsoever. The generation process is an off-shoot of anti-gravity technology used by pretty much everyone in the Galaxy."

"While the Starshatter device counters Replicator energy absorption and the Screamer counters keron-based circuitry, the Slammer counters their assembling ability."

A human sized dummy had been rolled into place at the far end of the test chamber while she had been talking and now she nodded to the soldier who stepped up and aimed the rifle downrange.

Seconds later, with a loud _THWAP_, an intense distortion, like a focused heatwave ripple, flew down the chamber and smashed into the dummy. Smashed was barely an appropriate word because the dummy was suddenly slammed backward by the pulse and shattered into several dozen pieces and a cloud of dust.

Samantha smiled at the impressed looks of the audience and suppressed a mental wince as she remembered the reactions of initial testing team that had tested the weapon against a recently euthanased cow. The effect upon a biological target was not pretty in _any_ way.

"This weapon is highly effective against Replicator blocks, completely destroying their basic structure and ability to form useful structures."

The audience nodded in understanding. A sour-faced elderly man in a sharp, expensive-looking suit gave a gruff grunt. He was Lucas Noguchi, head of Noguchi Space Systems. "These toys are nice and all, miss, but how long will it take to gear up for mass production of these weapons? Are we gonna be converting some production lines or building new ones from scratch? Cause I don't know if anyone's told you or not but pretty much everyone out there is at max capacity already."

Samantha, who hadn't been called 'miss' by anyone in a long time, suppressed a smile as she considered the very pertinent question he had posed.

The losses inflicted upon the Alliance by the Neo-Cylons had been heavy. Several hundred ships of all sizes had been lost so far and the casualties were in the hundreds of thousands. The Strategy Board knew that it had a massive pool of manpower from which to recruit and could easily replace their losses. Indeed, with the number of volunteers pouring into the recruitment depots, they were going to be hard-pressed to find ships for them all; which led to the real problem.

The Alliance's industrial base, both governmental and corporate, was huge. Dozens of worlds contributed significant war materiel and a handful of worlds, Earth and Sintesia among them, were real industrial powerhouses.

Despite working three shifts a day, every day, they were barely managing to replace their losses in ships, let alone the orbital platforms and stations. Small weapons production was proceeding accordingly but every sinew of Alliance industrial muscle was being strained right now and there wasn't much more capacity left, especially since the recruitment of men and women for the military was coming from the most productive segments of the population.

One more person joining the armed forces was one less person producing materiel for the same armed forces. Automated systems offset that dichotomy to quite some extent but the very scope of the industrial facilities meant that the human presence required was still considerable.

"To be honest, Mr Noguchi, we're not sure and we're hoping you and the other industrialists could get together with our people and work out a way to implement some new small-to-medium weapon construction capacity. The Alliance is willing massively subsidize any practical start-up plan you can come up with. For my part, I think that we can bring the concussion rifles to production simply by converting some of our existing weapon production facilities. The Screamers and any future variants are going to be a little more complex since they _will_ need a completely new line built."

Noguchi grimaced but shared a glance with the other industrialists and nodded grimly. They would work something out.

**)) Day 40 ((**

**)) 3rd September 2031AD ((**

**)) Core territory of the System Lord Yu ((**

First Prime Sun Lo, on his way to his chambers, staggered drunkenly for split second before sternly commanding his fatigue to heel. He had slept barely six hours in the past week and that was pushing the limits of endurance, even for his genetically engineered body.

His fleet had finally managed to shake their pursuers and, though he tried to hide it, he could feel nothing but a desperate sense of overpowering relief and unrelenting fear.

This was something new to him, something that not even the Alliance had caused him to feel. While a mortal threat, they were one he understood and respected. While they might in the end have defeated him, it would have been an honourable defeat.

Unlike the mere slaughter offered by these merciless machines.

He reached his quarters and wearily trudged inside, wanting nothing more to sleep for a hundred years but he had one more thing to take care of before he could rest.

With a wistful glance at his bed, Sun Lo walked over to the communications unit in the corner of the room and knelt down in respect. The system recognised his stance and automatically connected him to Lord Yu.

The holographic visage of the wizened Goa'uld System Lord appeared before him, staring down imperiously.

"What word do you bear, my First Prime?" Yu asked calmly.

He couldn't help it, Lo felt his shoulders sag. "I regret that I carry word of defeat, my Lord, and I beg your forgiveness."

Anger flashed, literally, in Yu's eyes but it was controlled just as quickly as it had appeared. "Explain." He ordered tersely.

Keeping his eyes down, Sun Lo described the initial attack to retake the Larnak Shipyards and the utter chaos it quickly devolved into as his numerically superior fleet was cut to bits by the incredibly precise fire that sliced through shields with sheer power and unnatural timing and synchronicity.

Nearly a quarter of his ships died in the first five minutes.

By the time he had managed, somehow, to fight his way clear of the planet and jump to hyperspace back to their rally point, he was down to little more than half his initial force and he had only managed to destroy a single Basestar and damage another.

The shock of the complete repulsion of their attack had barely begun to penetrate when four Basestars suddenly appeared at close range and began to open fire once more.

Desperate orders were hurriedly sent out, ranks were re-ordered and the sudden attack was held off long enough to make another jump to hyperspace.

A third of his remaining ships remained behind. Forever.

For twenty minutes, they tried to pull themselves back together and they had barely made it past their shock when the fleet suddenly found itself pulled violently from hyperspace as they encountered a gravity well.

The navigator had screamed that there should be no obstacles along their course. Sensors then reported that two enemy ships were in front of them, actually _generating_ a massive gravity well.

Lacking the firepower to damage the enemy, Lo had ordered all fire to concentrate defensively while he figured a way out of this mess. Obviously, they were getting good course tracks each time he jumped to hyperspace. They're FTL capability seemed to be a LOT faster, having followed them the first time and actually overtook them the second.

Lacking almost any options, Lo did the only thing he could think of. He ordered the Fleet to scatter individually and regroup at their initial staging point. The enemy only had a mere handful of ships and they would only be able to chase down a few of his remaining ships, hopefully allowing the remaining few to escape.

His vessel had obviously been identified as a Commandship since they had been pursued mercilessly for four days but on the fifth day, they had managed to shake their pursuers in a deep nebula. Now they were heading back to the staging point where, hopefully, at least some of his ships had survived.

He was not hopeful.

His fleet had be decimated completely by a technologically superior and aggressive foe. Whatever hope he had for the future died that day along with so many thousands of his Jaffa.

As he finished his retelling of the past week, Lord Yu's countenance had steadily darkened until the fury in his eyes was a living thing. Despite this, the fear that had a cold grip on his heart maintained the logic that threatened to be overrun with anger.

"Salvage what you can, First Prime. Return to Tiamat. There is much to do." He bit out savagely before ending the connection.

Sun Lo simply bowed his head and tried not to despair.

**)) Day 43 ((**

**)) 6th September 2031AD ((**

**)) Battlestar Galactica, Pacifica Shipyard Facility, New Israel System ((**

Harper stepped into the 'Primary', the main communal lounge set into the largest observation blister onboard the Galactica. A handful of bars dotted the edge of the large hall, dozens of tables, chairs and loungers were spread out across the floor but the large transparent steel window that made up the far wall dominated the entire room. Set into the shipyards of Pacifica, the view was somewhat restricted but the large blue dot of Olympia could be made out, between the spars of the docks and the flitting lights of construction bots.

"Colonel!" Someone called out.

Harper turned and saw Apollo sitting down with the ever present Starbuck. Smiling, he headed over to them. A passing waitress inquired as to his drink and promised to bring it over to his table.

Seconds later, he sat down in the empty chair opposite the two Colonial pilots.

"Sorry, guys. I got held up with the Admiral. You been waiting long?" Harper apologised.

Apollo shook his head. "Not long at all. Problems?"

"Yeah, you might say that." Harper replied wryly. "Boomer actually managed to convince the higher ups to allow her onto the diplomatic team."

Starbuck didn't even try to hide her astonishment. "Wow. I'm torn between 'impressed' and 'disbelief'."

"Roslin actually gave her approval for that?" Apollo asked dubiously. Thinking about it, any opposition to this idea would come from the Colonial quarter. The Alliance-types just didn't have the history to have a knee jerk negative reaction to such a proposal. They would decide on its merits and nothing else. The whole debacle with Lt Reese had proven that for him beyond any doubt.

"Yep." Harper replied with relish. "Was even pretty eager about the idea."

"Wow." Starbuck repeated, her amusement at the situation starting to peek through.

Apollo grunted lightly. "It makes sense though. We're trying to make peace with the Cylons. What better way than to show them the ultimate example of the unification of our two species, a Cylon woman pregnant by a Colonial man."

"Wow." Starbuck repeated once more, her eyes glittering with amusment.

Apollo frowned at her. "Starbuck…"

"…I just didn't think you actually knew words like 'unification', Lee." She interrupted him with an innocent grim. "I'm impressed."

Before the other pilot could retaliate, Harper stepped into the conversation. "Well, besides that tidbit of information, its confirmed, my brigade is being assigned to Ninth Fleet."

"Congratulations." Apollo replied smilingly.

Harper shrugged disarmingly. "It's no big deal. I was upset initially about not heading back to Gryphon but an independent command like this puts me on the fast track for my first star. As long as I don't screw up, of course."

The other two officers nodded supportively and Harper continued, "I suppose, one of the things I wanted to ask you, now that I'm a part of this mission is, do you think there's going to be any trouble with the Colonial contingent regarding the Fleet's orders?"

Apollo shared a glance with Starbuck before his eyes flitted back to Harper's. "Have you heard something then?"

Harper shook his head. "No, but then being Alliance, I necessarily wouldn't. Look, from my point of view, making peace with the Cylons would be a 'good thing' but I'm not the one who had my civilisation wiped out by them. Adama's good enough to keep those under his direct command in line but I'm talking about a grass roots resistance to orders here, amongst the rank and file."

Apollo nodded thoughtfully but Starbuck seemed to take offense. "Listen Colonel…!"

"Easy, Major!" Harper tried to placate her. "I'm not talking mutiny or anything really extreme, just that its human nature to want revenge and we don't need another incident when were trying to forge a peace treaty. I really don't want to be a part of genocide, if I can avoid it."

Starbuck still looked like she was going to object but Apollo silenced her with a look. He knew exactly where the Colonel was coming from; after all, it was his actions against Lt Reese that created the first incident which resulted in a near disaster for the Colonial/Alliance treaty.

"I'll put some feelers out and keep an eye on things." He replied.

Harper looked relieved at the other man's conciliatory tone. "Thank you, sir. That's all I ask."

Both men looked at Starbuck who had a mulish look on her face. "I don't like it but I guess I see where you're coming from as well." She sighed. "I need a drink."

Divine providence or just coincidence but the waitress Harper had spoken to earlier arrived at that moment with the Colonel's order and fresh replacements for Starbuck and Apollo.

The three officers took their drinks and looked at each other. Apollo raised his glass. "To a successful mission. Cheers!" He toasted.

"Cheers." The other two echoed and they all knocked back their drinks.

As they all grimaced, a two tone chime sounded across the hall.

NOW HEAR THIS, NINTH FLEET DEPARTURE TIME HAS BEEN MOVED FORWARD. TIME TO DEPARTURE IS NOW TWO HOURS FROM THIS ANNOUNCEMENT. ALL PERSONNEL PLEASE MAKE YOUR WAY TO YOUR STATIONS AND CONFIRM DEPARTURE STATUS. REPEAT, DEPARTURE TIME IS NOW TWO HOURS FROM THIS ANNOUNCEMENT, ALL STATIONS CONFIRM DEPARTURE STATUS!

"What the…?" Starbuck breathed out as she jumped to her feet. All around the 'Primary', officers were jumping to their feet and heading towards the exits. More than few Alliance officers were disappearing in beams of quantum light as they were transported back to their own ships.

"I'm guessing something's gone wrong since we weren't scheduled to depart for another eighteen hours." Harper replied absently. He was communicating with the rest of his personnel using his neural implant but none of them had any more information that he did. Not for the first time, he wished that the Science Division had been allowed to installed an AI core onboard the Galactica. He felt more than a little out of the loop without neural access to a ship's mainframe and status reports. "None of my people know what's going on either. I'm gonna head to Deck 12, I've commandeered one of the large storage bays in Section 9 and converted it to a barracks and command centre for my brigade."

"I'd heard." Apollo replied tightly. "We're heading for CIC to check in with the Admiral. I'll try and get word to you as soon as possible."

"Appreciated." Harper replied, as they passed through the now crowded exits and headed in different directions.

* * *

Commander Adama, or Admiral Adama as he was starting to be referred to more often than not thanks to his Alliance rank promotion, was midway through the current logistical report for Ninth Fleet when there was a knock on his door. 

"Enter."

The door opened and President Roslin stepped through, followed by a tired looking Billy Keikeya.

"Afternoon, Bill." Roslin greeted him with a smile.

"Madam President." Adama replied as he stood to attention. "Billy. Ma'am, if I'd know you…"

Roslin raised a hand and stopped him midstream as they all sat down. "It's okay, Bill, I don't really need all the fuss just for a simple chat between friends."

"What can I do for you today?" Adama asked curiously.

Roslin's expression shuttered slightly. "It's going to take you a bit of time to find the Cylon Homeworld."

Adama nodded guardedly. "We'll probably run into a Cylon Basestar before we find their planet but assuming can avoid killing them, that's just as good a situation as we'll need, at least for the initial talks."

Roslin nodded. She knew all this already but she was having a little trouble acknowledging the heart of the issue she really wanted to discuss. Taking a deep breath, she forged on.

"I was wondering, since you're going to be doing so much looking around…would it be possible to assign some assets to conduct a survey of Colonial space…to look for survivors."

Adama leaned back in his chair. "Laura…it's been nearly four years…the chances are…"

Roslin nodded stiffly. "I know. And I know that's why you and the other military types haven't considered it, because you know exactly how stacked the odds are against there being survivors but…us civilians, we don't have the 'comfort', for lack of a remotely better word, of that knowledge or the outlook of a military mindset. All we have is sliver of hope that simultaneously sustains us and tortures us."

Adama looked a little disturbed by her words so Billy spoke up. "We're not suggesting the military has written off any possible survivors, only that you can easily accept their deaths that others can. We were hoping you could perform and document a survey of Colonial space and maybe some of the surrounding sectors. If we could have hard evidence of no survivors back there then I think it would be of great…comfort, I suppose, to those that don't know one way or the other."

Roslin nodded sadly. "It would be wonderful if you actually found survivors but even if all you found was lifeless worlds, we could at least know for sure and put our loved ones to rest, one way or another."

Adama considered the request and their words for several long minutes before finally nodding. It wouldn't affect his plans much at all and if it could lay some lingering ghosts to rest then all the better. He opened his mouth to say as much when his com unit buzzed for attention.

He hit a button on his desk. "Yes?"

"Sir, incoming transmission from Babel Military HQ on Earth. General O'Neill wishes to speak with you urgently."

"Put him through." Adama replied as he turned to the display hanging on the opposite wall. The Colonial crest that was displayed there flickered and was replaced by the Alliance crest briefly before the stern visage of Jack O'Neill appeared.

"Admiral Adama," he began brusquely, "Long range scans have picked up widespread fighting across what appeared the entirety of Lord Yu's remaining territory. It seems that our previous estimates of the Neo-Cylon's advance were well off. They're moving now, in unprecedented numbers; we've picked up at least forty Basestars which is double our estimates if they got many attacking Yu while still holding us at bay. I need you to move out as soon as you can because in two weeks, probably less, those Neo-Cylon fleets are going to be heading our way and I need everything I have to defend with. You mission is too important to scrub though. How soon can you move out?"

"Ambassador Richardson and the diplomatic detachment boarded an hour ago with 1024th Ground Force Brigade so we're good there. I'd say, three hours, maybe less." Adama replied thinking furiously.

The only problem he could see was that his supply of depletable munitions, missiles, rail gun rounds was still under his Table of Organisation and Equipment's required amount but the colliers hadn't yet arrived and weren't expected for another eight hours. Their approach, however, was close to Ninth Fleet's exit vector to Colonial space. They could meet them enroute and perform an underway replenishment. Unorthodox but easily done. It would take at least an hour to get all his personnel recalled and aboard their ships and maybe another hour to ready for departure.

"Good." O'Neill replied. "You know what needs to be done, Admiral." He added sternly, his expression hard and unyielding at the thought of the horrors they might be asked to perform but as he reached forward to cut off the transmission, his face softened slightly. "Get me that treaty, Bill." And the signal cut off.

Adama took a deep breath and looked towards Roslin and Billy who had both remained silent beyond the viewers pickup.

"We'd better get going, Admiral. Good luck." She said softly.

"I'll need it." He replied.

* * *

As the President and Billy headed back to Colonial One, Adama headed down to CIC. As he stepped through the door, he was greeted by a frantic staff and Colonel Tigh who stood at the centre of it all like a beacon of calm. He saw Adama and met him halfway. More than a few of the staff seemed to pause in their tasks and looked towards the two, waiting. 

"The call sounded important." Tigh commented gruffly, his face betraying nothing.

Adama nodded with mild amusement. "The balloon's gone up earlier than expected, we need to get this Fleet moving as soon as possible, three hours on the outside."

The edge of Tigh's mouth twitched briefly and he turned to the waiting staff. "We're moving out in two hours. Now if you please, Mr Gaeta."

Gaeta nodded and the rest of the staff exploded into action.

NOW HEAR THIS, NINTH FLEET DEPARTURE TIME HAS BEEN MOVED FORWARD. TIME TO DEPARTURE IS NOW TWO HOURS FROM THIS ANNOUNCEMENT. ALL PERSONNEL PLEASE MAKE YOUR WAY TO YOUR STATIONS AND CONFIRM DEPARTURE STATUS. REPEAT, DEPARTURE TIME IS NOW TWO HOURS FROM THIS ANNOUNCEMENT, ALL STATIONS CONFIRM DEPARTURE STATUS!

Tigh turned back to Adama who was amused greatly at his old friend's ability to see the future. He really was an amazing XO when he was on his game. "You do realize we're still low on ammo."

Adama nodded wryly. "We'll meet 'em enroute. We need to get moving now."

As Adama headed over to Capt Gaeta in order to plot a course for the munitions colliers, Tigh turned back to the tactical display with a barely suppressed grin. Despite the changes to the Galactica, the Alliance Navy officers dotted around the ship and the threat of annihilation from a new and improved breed of Cylons, he felt ten years younger.

"Once more unto the breach…" He muttered.

One hour and forty three minutes later, the last elements of Ninth Fleet had cleared their moorings.

Heading away from the plane of ecliptic, the cleared the Pacifica Shipyards quickly. The mighty Battlestar moving with surprising grace considering her size. Dozens of cruisers and destroyers covered her flanks like remora swimming with a shark as the yellow sun of New Israel glittered off their hulls.

Seconds later, the first squadron of destroyers disappeared in a twist of spacetime and a flash of light. A second squadron followed soon after. A cruiser division jumped, followed by another, and another as space was lit by dozens of firefly flashes before the Galactica herself disappeared in a blaze of cerenkov light.


	14. End Game Part 2 of 3

Hi guys and grrls, i'm back.

Been a long time coming. Once again, i want to assure everyone that this will NEVER be abandoned.

That, and emails asking me to UPDATE NOW will be both appreciated for their enthusiasm and ignored for their sheer gall.

Enjoy.**  
**

**Chapter 13**

**End of an Era…**

**)) Day 45 ((**

**)) 7th September 2031AD ((**

**)) Tiamat, Last Domain of the Goa'uld System Lord Yu ((**

As he stood on the bridge of his flagship 'Blood Dragon', First Prime Sun Lo was contradictory jumble of thoughts and emotions.

Long range scans had picked up the emergence of over two dozen enemy capital ships as they headed towards Tiamat. There was no doubt that this was the final battle. He felt a certain kind of calm, with the knowledge that one way or another, that this one-sided slaughter would soon be over.

When he had returned to Tiamat, he had been stunned to see the pitiful remnants of the fleets belonging to the last few Minor System Lords who's small domains had been destroyed earlier by the Neo-Cylons. It appeared that Lord Yu was the last System Lord in the Galaxy with any resources and any ability to fight.

This simple truth and the further knowledge that he was not likely to be on the winning side imparted an fatalistic mood over him.

The sudden detachment worried him in the abstract but the logical part of his mind noted that he probably wouldn't live long enough for any psychological problems to matter all that much.

A Second stepped up to him with a data slate. "Everybody is in position. Everything capable of flying is off the ground and our Lord God has been escorted, along with the other surviving Gods, to the secure bunker deep beneath the Fortress Palace."

Sun Lo nodded calmly. "The special units?"

"Cloaked and awaiting your command, First Prime."

"Very good." Lo replied and turned back to the display. There wouldn't be long to wait now.

From his position as First Prime to Lord Yu, Lo had access to much of the intelligence Yu's spies had generated over the past forty years. In his mind, Lo could see the steady ascendancy of the Alliance as they toppled Bast and then System Lord after System Lord, even while dealing decisively with surprise attacks from the Aschen and other various entities who felt their domains threatened by the upstart Tau'ri.

They had all fallen before the Alliance.

Lo had very little doubt that in a few years, may be even sooner, he would have been in the exact same situation he faced now except it would be the Alliance calling. Privately he and the Jaffa under him had looked forward to it. They knew that they too would have been defeated by the Alliance but that defeat would have been earned. The Jaffa would have had earned their respect and they could have gone to their deaths knowing they had been defeated in battle by an honourable foe.

These Neo-Cylons…they had no honour. They were soulless machines of such power that any fight was essentially honourless. They could be no effective resistance and no surrender with the hope of rising up again in the future.

There would only be death and an honourless one at that.

All that remained was to play this travesty out and to find what little honour they could in fighting this worthless battle anyway.

The sensors began screaming and the Jaffa operating grimaced. "Twenty six enemy vessels just dropped into normal space along a ninety degree bearing. They've put us between them and the planet."

Sun Lo nodded as if he hadn't expected anything differently.

In truth, all the possible tactics and stratagems he could devises were rendered worthless by the enemies sheer capability and so he had chosen the only plan that might salvage something from this day.

He hit a button on the command throne's arm control panel and opened a channel to all his ships. "Jaffa, KREE!"

* * *

Two hundred and seventy six Motherships of all classes charged at the arrayed Neo-Cylon Basestars.

Accelerating rapidly, the Motherships reached optimum weapons range quickly and opened fire, holding nothing back.

A veritable firestorm the likes of which had rarely been seen since the heights of the Goa'uld Wars erupted and space was rent asunder by the energies involved; plasma bolts small and large washed over the ranks of Basestars with a fury to rival a supernova.

The Basestars calmly took the assault, diverting power to their shields that, powerful though they were, still dropped precipitously under the sheer magnitude of the assault. Despite the attack, they waited until the enemy was closer before their own weapons suddenly blazed outward.

Thin, silver beams flared with actinic light as they struck the rapidly closing Motherships quickly, precisely and with devastating effect.

The smaller Motherships simply exploded under the lightning swift strikes whilst the bigger classes shook under the pounding but doggedly continued onward, closing the range whilst continuing to fire every weapon they had in an effort to at least damage their foes.

Sun Lo winced as a significant percentage of the light Motherships died violently under the initial enemy volley but could help but burst with pride as the others continued onward despite it.

No one slowed. No one turned aside.

Expecting nothing less, Lo watched the range steadily drop and decided now was the time. Opening another channel, his smile was terrible to behold.

"Special Units, KREE!"

Three thousand Death Gliders and two hundred Al'Kesh bombers, split into two groups, all cloaked, had been waiting high above and far below the battle for the word from the First Prime.

Throttles were slammed forward and the fighters and mid-range bombers swept towards the Basestars like avenging angels.

Yu and Sun Lo had spent hours working out some sort of defensive plan but the only effective weapon they could devise were overwhelming suicide strikes.

Outfitted with the most advanced cloaks Lord Yu possessed, each Death Glider was packed to their admitted limited capacity with refined naquada, turning them into smart missiles with the explosive power to put a sizeable dent into any large moon.

The Al'kesh, with their far larger capacity, were too packed with refined naquada except their deadly cargos also had explosive cores of weapon-grade naquada. Enough to crack a moon in half.

The invisible wave of death flew mercilessly towards the enemy.

* * *

The Neo-Cylon intelligence in command of the attack had much of its attention upon the closing Goa'uld Motherships but as a machine, this wasn't going to distract it from its other duties.

Its sensor sections had picked up spurious energy readings early on in the battle and hard worked to locate them, postulating some sort of weapon so far unseen from the Goa'uld.

Its fears were accurate as the sensor section pierced the cloaks of the enemy fighters and bombers as they closed the range to their targets.

The numbers they faced would have caused any biological being to blanch with fear but, emotionlessly, the Neo-Cylon intelligence began to re-prioritise its fire and started to shoot at the two massive wavefronts of cloaked vessels.

Beams licked out and although more than a few missed, they still managed to swat a dozen cloaked fighters from space but the explosions that marked each interception were suspiciously large.

The analysis section deduced the presence of some sort of high energy material addition to each craft and the threat factor of the hard to detect ships was raised. All the fleet's defensive suite and a significant percentage of its offensive firepower were redirected towards the cloaked threat.

Explosions, revealingly large, began to dot the space above and below the Basestars.

* * *

Sun Lo was slightly disappointed that they Special Units had been detected at all but not that surprised considering the enemies technical superiority. Their decision to honor the threat posed by the cloaked fighters and bombers, however, meant that his Motherships would live longer to get closer to the enemy and his Seconds were fully prepared to ram the enemy as well.

The Neo-Cylons would learn a lesson that the Tau'ri had known for decades.

Its very, very hard to stop someone from killing you if they're prepared to take their own lives as well.

The Neo-Cylon intelligence received the report of the analysis of the attack and something akin to concern flowed over his circuits. Retreat was not an option until they had received unsustainable casualties.

As one, the Basestars began to back up, in an effort to keep the range open. The fact that the enemy was approaching from three diverse vectors made this manoeuvre difficult and less effective as it had hoped. Retreating from two of the groups had simply placed the fleet closer to the remaining suicide ships.

Beams, cannons and missiles began to fire in earnest now as the Neo-Cylons threw everything they had at the enemy.

It was a fearsome display but the small advantage the cloaks gave the Jaffa meant that thirty-two Death Gliders and four Al'Kesh made it though the firestorm and slammed straight into the shields of sixteen of the Basestars.

The first Basestar shrugged off the hit from the lone Death Glider with minimal damage although the shield generators did stress dangerously close to damaging levels.

A second Basestar took hits from two Death Gliders in quick succession and the shield generators screamed in protest as three primary generators exploded, causing significant internal damage and taking three missile bays and a point defense installation with it.

Auto-repair systems began work immediately and secondary shield generators came on-line to provide a modicum of cover with the surviving primary generators but there was no mistaking the result; the Basestar had been hurt.

The same story was repeated across the Neo-Cylon fleet.

Suicidal Death Gliders stripped the shields from all the sixteen Basestars that were hit and in seven cases, caused heavy damage to the ship itself.

The four Al'kesh that made it past the defensive fire provided the coup-de-grace and slammed into four unshielded Basestars.

Four new stars were instantly born amongst the Neo-Cylon formation.

Every Jaffa in the system watching the battle cheered.

Lord Yu, from his throne in the bowels of his fortress palace allowed himself a thin smile.

First Prime Sun Lo slammed his fist down in exultation and cried from his helmsman to increase speed.

* * *

The Neo-Cylon intelligence flickered with something akin to disgust at its own arrogance as signals from four Basestars suddenly stopped.

This new tactic of the Goa'uld was somewhat effective although, even as it admitted the fact, a handful of counter-tactics swept across its awareness.

Choosing one, the twenty two surviving Basestars jumped out of existence.

Nine of the most damaged Basestars appeared in high orbit over the planet and began firing upon the surface with a singular intensity that was fearful to behold. Almost instantly, waves of destruction washed outwards from the impact zones, colliding with each other and causing even more devastation.

Lord Yu, the Fortress Palace and a million Jaffa died instantly.

The thirteen other Basestars appeared back in realspace but spread far and wide, none anywhere close to the current vectors of the suicidal ships. Many, where in fact, positioned behind the speeding Motherships and began to pour fire into the rear of the vessels.

Taken completely by surprise, the Jaffa scattered in all directions and tried to reorient on the relocated Basestars but it was not easy. It took time for them to come around, especially after reaching such suicidal speeds. This allowed the Basestars time to pick them off.

The fact that the Basestars were spread out also caused many of the Jaffa to spread out and try and hit everyone, thus weakening their concentrations and removing the pressure of sheer numbers from the defensive suites of the Basestars.

A handful of Seconds managed to retain tight controls of the their groups and threatened individual Basestars with concerted efforts but just as it looked like some suicide Gliders might make it through their defensive fire, the Basestar would jump to a new position instantly; and that position was almost always behind a squadron of Motherships that was closing on another Basestar.

Teeth clenched in frustration, Sun Lo watched as the Neo-Cylons defeated his fleet and the special units in detail. The enemy capital ships were making precision micro-jumps all across the battlefield and it was making it all but impossible to even damage the enemy anymore, let alone kill them.

"First Prime!" A Jaffa called out, pointing towards the bridge viewport. A Basestar had just flashed into existence in front of him.

Before he even had time to open his mouth in response, twenty blue, needle-thin beams flared and sliced into his Mothership.

One of the beams stabbed deep at the bridge and Sun Lo disappeared in white fire.

**)) Day 46 ((**

**)) 8th September 2031AD ((**

**)) Office of Naval Intelligence, Fleet Station Freedom, geosynchronous Earth orbit ((**

General Abdul Ibn Fahd sipped from his steaming cup of coffee and let out a sigh of appreciation. He had been working non-stop for the past thirty-eight hours and he no longer had the constitution of a twenty year old that had let him go almost three days without sleep as a youth. The Chief Medic had refused to approve another stimulant dosage, delivered via his nanite package so he had fallen back upon an old tried and true method of staying awake; caffeine, and lots of it.

He and his people had been working themselves to the bones trying to analyse all the data coming in from hundreds of different sources. While the details varied from one sector of space to another, the overall trend was clear. The last System Lord had been wiped out.

Lord Yu's forces had lost every engagement to the Neo-Cylons. But as some once said, the truth can be a double-edged sword.

From what he had been able to piece together from the Fleet's stealth probes and long range scans, Yu's First Prime had managed to destroy anywhere from three to six Basestars before his fleet and the fortress world of Tiamat was destroyed with no survivors.

The mood of Alliance High Command was mixed. While there was a certain joy in the last of the Goa'uld being removed from the Galaxy once and for all, it was severely tempered by the fact that the Neo-Cylons were now free to turn their entire attention to the Alliance.

A double-edged sword indeed.

Whilst he had many, more 'important' and official people he had to inform of his department's final analysis, he felt he an someone who had saved his life as a Major in one of the SG Assault squads, deserved to know first.

Putting his coffee down for a moment, he quickly brought up the final report file and with no hesitation, despite breaking about a dozen regulations, sent it across the ether to someone who deserved to know first.

**)) Free Jaffa Nation, Chulak ((**

Teal'c, followed by his faithful friend Command Master Sergeant Booth, stepped from the Stargate and into the glorious sunlight of Chulak.

A large, multilevel bunker containing the standard Alliance Stargate monitoring station sat nearby, at the edge of the thick forest beside the road to the main city.

There were six Free Jaffa guards surrounding the 'Gate who, in their Alliance-based armour, snapped to attention at seeing the greatest of Free Jaffa amongst them once more.

Booth studied the face of Teal'c but was not fooled by the serene expression on his face that he had carried ever since he had received the message from the Head of ONI. The big guy would wear that if his left leg was being removed by a chainsaw. Booth decided to give his friend some space to relax his control a little bit.

* * *

"Why don't you go on into town, Teal'c." Booth suggested easily. "I'll let everyone here know the situation and meet you there later on."

Teal'c inclined his head silently and set off on the road to town. Booth shook his head and gestured for the Jaffa guards to come to him. Boy, were they in for a surprise.

Twenty minutes later, Teal'c was entering the centre of the ever-growing city of Free Jaffa on Chulak.

While the people of Chulak still preferred to maintain their rustic lifestyle, they had happily integrated more than a few elements of Alliance technology into their lifestyle, such as communication consoles, computers, advanced medical technology and so on.

A large portion of the Alliance was made up of people who preferred a less 'metropolitan' lifestyle so more than a few manufacturing companies made advanced products such as computers and holographic displays that were built into faux wooden panels or were entirely hidden and used voice activation alone.

Many of the ultra-strong, impossibly durable materials used in construction of their buildings were designed to look like simple natural wood panels or thatched roofs.

So it was due to this that, although Teal'c was walking through an advanced, technologically aware civilisation, there were very few signs of it. It looked much like it did under the far less generous reign of the System Lords.

More than a few people, seeing Teal'c stride purposefully towards the city centre, followed in his wake. Teal'c was not surprised in the least to see a gathering crowd already there in the centre plaza.

Despite being able to travel faster than light, nothing the Alliance possessed could outstrip the speed of rumor.

Teal'c reached the large fountain at the centre of the large plaza and stood up on the lip so that he could see everyone and they could see him.

How many times and he come here and given them some life changing news? Too many times to count and today would be no different.

"Free Jaffa of Chulak! A mere two hours ago, I received word that our new enemy had launched a final massive attack against the last remaining System Lord, the Goa'uld Yu."

Here, Teal'c couldn't help but grimace. "Whilst the new enemy offers us nothing but death, they have done us a great service. The last System Lord has been killed."

The crowd was utterly silent but Teal'c could feel the import of his words penetrating their consciousness and a subtle pressure, of what exactly, he was unsure only that a tangible feeling was rising throughout the plaza. He smiled broadly and felt a tear slip down his cheek.

"The Goa'uld are no more. We carry no more Prim'ta. The Gods are all destroyed and we are now utterly and truly free!"

The massive crowd roared in frenzied delight.

Children looked on with mild confusion as their parents and the other adults around the plaza began to scream wildly with joy. Tears flowed freely, people hugged tightly, danced strange little jigs, kissed complete strangers and generally wne twild with abandon.

The people of Free Jaffa were generally a reserved a people as any you would meet but what others, hell, what they themselves didn't realise, was that this reserve, this aloofness was a instinctive response the constant possibility that they might again, one day, become enslaved once more.

Even as in these later years, the chances of a Goa'uld revival lessened to less than nothing, the fear still remained, however diminished.

Now, to know once and for all that you need never fear the Goa'uld…well, the party on Chulak and the other worlds of the Free Jaffa Nation would not stop for many weeks and whilst the other members of the Alliance would still note a certain implacability to the Jaffa people, the would clearly see a more relaxed and self-assured race over the coming years.

Teal'c watched the celebrations for a while before admitting to himself that it was time to talk to the people he had really come here to see.

With a small, sad smile to those who had engaged him in talks, he excused himself politely but firmly and made his way out of the plaza.

He strode swiftly down several side streets and made his way out of the town with the ease of someone who had helped build the very foundations of the city and knew most of its secrets.

After fifteen minutes, Teal'c found himself in a familiar gully at the edge of a forest. There, at the base of the gully, beneath a rocky overhang, stood a dilapidated shack.

Teal'c chided himself for letting his home run down so but he knew that he had spent many long years avoiding this place and couldn't find the strength to argue with himself.

Walking past the small house, he stepped into a small fenced, neatly appointed area covered in flowers that held two small headstones.

Drey'auc.

Rya'c.

Teal'c felt himself go numb as his eyes fell on his son's grave.

The death of his beloved wife was a pain that had never gone away, a constant firebrand seared into his heart that had never faded with time.

He had though long since become accustomed to that pain and accepted it as the price of loving Drey'auc.

His son's death, however, was a different matter.

A parent should never have to outlive their child.

His pain at the loss of Rya'c was so great, it froze his very blood and numbed all other feelings. His mind threatened to shut down and it took everything he had not to collapse to the ground and weep for eternity.

He had never doubted his own strength, physical or mental, but to ask him to confront his own dead son was something he simply did not think he could handle.

Rya'c had died fighting the Aschen when they tried to lure an unknowing world into accepting their help.

Everyone in the Alliance had known that a conflict with the Aschen was inevitable. Alliance Intelligence had quickly become aware of their modus-operandi regarding other civilisations and while it had taken several years to be in a position to confront them, everyone had known it was coming.

Rya'c had been raised to fight slavery in all its forms, almost literally imbibed to it at his mother's breast as it were and he had been the first amongst his people to volunteer to be part of the task force sent to deal with the Aschen. Rya'c had been a leader amongst his peers and many Jaffa his age had joined him in the fight against oppression.

Fleet Admiral Kent had been pleased to accept a fighting unit of Jaffa. Over the years, they had honed their esoteric fighting styles to become feared fighters, even amongst the elite Ground Force units.

Whilst technologically advanced, Aschen conquest was achieved slowly, through deception and treachery. Their fleet was relatively large but after suffering massive losses in an almost successful sneak attack against Earth, they never managed to achieve a victory in any engagement with the Alliance navy. On the ground, however, these battles were not so one-sided.

Aschen Shock Troops were as good as any soldiers the Alliance had and they extracted a fearful price in the running battles across the fifteen worlds of the Aschen. Biological and chemical weapons were proliferate amongst the Aschen arsenal and the battlefields of this conflict were foul, deadly, plague-ridden places by the end.

Rya'c, as First Prime to Admiral Kent, fought hard and became much feared amongst the enemy and it was his successes that caused the Aschen to unleash a biological plague that was designed to kill Jaffa in the event that the System Lords ever posed a threat to the Aschen. The plaque had no effect upon any other race and so its effect was severely limited for the effort involved in using it. Rya'c's efforts against the Aschen, however, were such that the Aschen High Command felt the expense was worth it in order to be rid of him.

To the Alliance's dismay, despite their precautions, the plague came as a total surprise and had been designed to specifically overcome Jaffa armour, which at that time, the Free Jaffa continued to utilise.

Rya'c and four hundred and eleven other Jaffa died painfully on a rain-soaked nameless battlefield during the last days of the conflict.

It wasn't the highest number of casualties inflicted in one place during the war but it was the most cruel and sickening.

That single event caused the entire Alliance to recoil in horror. They had all known of the terrible things that the Aschen had done in the past but it was an intellectual thing, numbers on a page. To see pictures of people known to them, their face contorted in agony, backs arched backwards almost to snapping point as their muscles spasmed…no, the true face of the enemy had been brutally thrust in front of them and the Alliance was enraged.

Ground Force units from native Home Defense forces across nine entire sectors mobilised and were quickly shipped off to the front. Alliance Military High Command were far from short of state-controlled Ground Force units before this tragic event but they were more than happy to accept the national units assistance and they were quickly organised into several assault groups which attacked the remaining Aschen worlds simultaneously.

The Aschen, somewhat unexpectedly to the ever-growing horror of the Alliance at large, even by this point, fought to the last man, woman and child. If it looked like they were going to be captured, they either forced the Troopers to kill them or they killed themselves.

By the end of four horrific days of fighting, eleven billion Aschen lay dead, nearly a two-thirds by their own plagues.

Teal'c wept bitterly as he stared at the headstone of his son's grave. _We finished what you started, my son, but forgive me if I believe the price we paid was too high by far._

In the distance, Teal'c could hear the celebrations kicking in to high gear.

_Yes, the extinction of the Goa'uld is something to celebrate indeed. So why do I feel nothing but sorrow?_

Ironic that he no longer believed in Gods when he wished for nothing but for a higher power to restore to him what was lost.

* * *

O'Neill, high in the tower that overlooked the city of Babel, stood motionless at the window, gazing out at the blue sky as he tried to order his thoughts.

The Goa'uld were gone. Extinct.

With the destruction of the two known birth-worlds of the Goa'uld serpent forms, the Lord Yu and his System Lords were the last known living snakes and with them gone, Intelligence was declaring them eradicated and with every other Goa'uld carefully accounted for by Intelligence, including Bast, he could see why.

With a mental wince, he remember the events that led up to Bast and the genocide of the Tok'ra. Political opposition to the Tok'ra had been at an all time high and they were practically outcasts amongst the Alliance. Then they had scored a coup by finding the hiding place of Bast and her First Prime, who were living simple lives farming their world, peacefully.

This, to the Tok'ra, was apparently unacceptable and thinking they could use this to restore their reputations, launched an assault upon their small town. Bast's First Prime and Jaffa had fought hard with the meagre weapons they had at hand and took a heavy toll in Tok'ra soliders but in the end, the Tok'ra succeeded in killing her lover and the rest of her Jaffa.

Bast, managed to escape once more but had been mortally injured in the exchange. With her time limited she played one last gambit which she had planned long before during the time of her Union but never had time to implement. She sent a series of datafiles to various members of the Alliance who had allowed volunteers to join the Tok'ra. The datafiles gave supposed evidence complied by Alliance Intelligence that supposedly proved that the Tok'ra were in fact, no better than the Goa'uld and that their 'sharing' was a total fraud and that the original humans never regained free will again once blended.

To this day, that was one of O'Neill's greatest fears, that the Tok'ra had really been no better than the Goa'uld and he would dearly like to believe that they were but they would never get a chance to know. It had almost broken Sam. They had spent many nights talking about the possibility. Holding her while she cried her fears out.

Her anger, her despair at never being able to truly know for sure was felt by others, some, in a position to give vent to that anger.

A handful of Alliance members, furious at the supposed deception, horrified at the thought of what they may have agreed to, managed to seize several samples of the Aschen plague aimed specifically at Goa'uld symbiotes and deployed them.

The resulting plague stormed through the Tok'ra bases and wiped out them out overnight.

The recriminations lasted for months. Two member worlds were expelled for fifty years. Weapons that were too hideous to contemplate had been used and the Alliance was nearly destroyed by the split in opinions.

The Alliance, in the shadow of five thousand three hundred and twelve dead Tok'ra, survived albeit haunted by the horror it had perpetrated.

It wasn't until three years later that the Fleet located Bast, dead, onboard her ship that had been powerless and adrift at the Alliance border. Intelligence pieced together the events of the past from the onboard records and was quick to classify everything. The event was in past, couldn't be changed and the knowledge that Bast was a catalyst for it all as revenge would only serve to open wounds that were only now healing.

Extinct.

He supposed that somewhere, out in the vastness of the Galaxy, there were more Goa'uld, maybe even a System Lord, hiding, hoping no-one would find them.

O'Neill shook his head. The Galaxy was getting smaller every year. He doubted if there were any Goa'uld out there, they were as good as dead anyway.

He turned away from the window, shaking off the introspection. With the barbarians at the gate once more, he had work to do.

**)) Day 48 ((**

**)) 10th July 2031AD ((**

**)) Holding Cell 4, Battlestar Galactica, Hyperspace ((**

Baltar woke up with a start, covered in sweat and breathing heavily. The nightmares had started soon after his arrest. The same nightmare every night. One would have thought the lack of detail would have made the nightmare less terrifying but it seemed the opposite was true. The amorphous surroundings, the faceless terror pursuing him, the swimming-though-glue feeling that gripped him tighter even as he tried to run faster.

"One might say you had a guilty conscience, Gaius." An all-to-familiar voice commented casually.

Baltar bit down on his rage. The last time he got angry at his 'invisible friend' they had sedated him for two days. "Haven't you anybody else to torment?"

Number Six glanced at him somewhat seductively as she slithered across the smallish cell in which he was detained. "You're my special cross to bear."

Snorting with bitter amusement, Baltar shifted into an upright position on his cot, "A curious remark for a religiously opinionated species such as yourselves." He was not surprised by her comment.

Less than a week ago, Gaius had fallen asleep in his cell in the Detention Block on Pacifica. The next morning, he had woken up here, in this place which was both more comfortable and more austere than his original place of confinement. A simple cot, and a small toilet set behind a two foot high privacy screen; embedded in the wall at the end of the cot lay a computer display that responded to basic voice commands.

With nothing to do in the cell except trawl through the unclassified portions of the Alliance Database available to any prisoner, they had covered a lot of ground since his imprisonment. Since nearly all the science and technological data he would have preferred to read about was denied to him and he had quickly tired of what passed for entertainment amongst the citizens of the Alliance, he had been persuaded by Six to examine the religious aspects of the Alliance, which were many and varied.

Six inclined her head in agreement. "While yours and the other false gods are nothing beside the One True God, the lessons of those childish fables still retain some merit. Maybe you should pay attention to some of the teachings. A prophet almost always pays for the message he delivers."

The meaningful delivery of that last line caused him to frown and then gasp in amusement. "Are…are you comparing me to some sort of prophet?"

Six shrugged mildly. "I cannot speak for God but you were Chosen by us to bring His message to the Colonials. It wouldn't be the first time the messenger was shot for simply carrying the message."

"And what, pray tell, message do I apparently carry?" He patted himself down dramatically. "It appears I may have lost any letter or parcel during the destruction of my entire race." He finished caustically.

Six studied him carefully through slitted eyes. Her demeanour had shifted into something dangerous. "Gaius…what makes you think that wasn't the message?"

Baltar leaned back against the cold wall, stunned beyond the ability to speak. While nothing had been said outright, that was one of the clearest answers he had ever received from her regarding his role in everything that had happened so far. He opened his mouth to say something…anything when the sound of door in the corridor outside unlocking reverberated through his cell. Someone was coming.

Six glanced at the door and turned back to him, the same dark expression on her face.

"Don't think for second that was the only message we want you to deliver for us, Gaius." And she disappeared.

The door to his cell suddenly slid open and two hulking armoured Troopers stood in the doorway. "Get up."

* * *

Baltar was pushed firmly into the single chair at the centre of a featureless white room. The short journey from his cell to this chamber hadn't revealed anything useful to him at all. No identifying signs or marks, no labels on the exposed pipes, nothing to give him any idea of where he was.

He was mildly surprised then when the next person through the door after the Troopers had taken up positions against the wall was Admiral Adama.

Gaius tried to meet the eyes of the stone-faced commander confidently but there was something in his expression which made it incredibly difficult and Gaius found himself looking away.

Adama, holding onto a chair, stepped inside, placed the chair in front of him and sat down. "Baltar."

He winced. That single word managed to acknowledge him, sympathise with him and condemn him at the same time.

"We know about your…'friend', Baltar." Adama looked at him with hooded eyes. "Thanks to interrogation of the other Cylon Sleeper agents, we now also know about your role in the destruction of the 12 Colonies and 40 billion people."

He couldn't help it, he flinched. He felt sweat beading on his brow as he sought to find anything, say anything that could stop them from killing him. A small part of him knew he deserved to die, felt the guilt of his actions and the horror of knowing what he had down but it was overwhelmed by the larger part of him that did not want to die and would do anything to prevent it!

"Admiral, I…" he began.

"Shut up." Adama interrupted darkly, his voice low and dangerous.

Baltar seemed to feel Death itself lay a cold, bony hand upon his shoulder.

"What you have done, Baltar, is too horrendous for any mere mortal to punish you for. Only the Gods themselves can punish you appropriately for we can merely offer you death and that will not give comfort to anyone, nor will it bring back the lives you helped take."

He tried, valiantly to refrain from breathing a sigh of relief but some of his reaction must have shown for Adama's face became even more forbidding.

"That doesn't mean we won't kill you, Baltar, nor take pleasure in making you suffer beforehand." Adama clenched his fists, his shoulders shaking with rage. "I censured my son for take out his anger on what he thought was a Cylon prisoner. He tortured that man because of what he represented. Mistaken though he was, I find I owe Lee an apology because there is almost nothing standing between me and making you suffer so bad you'll be begging me to finish it."

"He's bluffing."

Gaius flinched at the sudden appearance of Number Six behind the Admiral.

Adama saw it and felt his rage fall back a notch as now recognised the signs he had missed for three long years. "Ah, I'm guessing your 'friend' has just shown up."

Gaius gaped at Adama as he turned round and his eyes focussed directly upon Number Six. "Thank you for joining us."

Six flinched in a strange parody of Gaius as her mouth tried to form a response. "Ho…how…?"

Adama smiled darkly. "Our Alliance friends are very inventive. Once we realised that Baltar had been implanted with Cylon central processor, we realised we weren't dealing with another Sleeper agent but more a 'Keeper' who kept their subject compliant through direct manipulation of his central cortex."

He turned to Baltar. "While we were suffering with cramped quarters, shipboard depression and rations, I bet she was making you believe she was screwing your brains out on a beach somewhere, eating at expensive restaurants and generally living a luxurious existence, right?"

Gaius felt himself floundering…how could he do this? How could he know?!?

Adama smiled thinly. "Like I said, the Alliance is inventive. Their first thought was to remove the hardware from your head and plug it into one of their computers but the docs here squelched that idea. The processor is organic in nature we would have had to scoop out half your brain pan in order to get it all out."

Gaius shuddered in fear.

"Anyway, one of their techs managed to isolate the neural frequencies the processor uses to interact with your central nervous system. While you were asleep on the transfer here, we wanted to neutralize your piggyback transmitter you were using to keep in touch with your people, especially since you would soon be entering range of the Cylons once more. While we were in there, they also implanted a small shunt that allowed us to read those same neural impulses."

Adama twisted his head slightly and showed a small electronic device attached to the back of his neck. "This neural transceiver allows me to see what it's projecting onto you. Their mind-machine interfaces appear to be quite advanced."

Six, who up to this point had been quietly trying to recover her balance, heard his explanation and understood its implications. She snarled in anger and struck out with her mind. Pleasure wasn't the only thing she could inflict.

Baltar suddenly screamed in agony as Six sent fire surging down his neural pathways. The room itself seemed to disappear and they were enveloped in a blazing fire. Baltar could see his flesh begin to shrivel and char. His pain, however, was only a side effect of Six's true target.

Adama however, simply stood there with a small smile on his face, completely untouched by the neural pain of the fire. "Maximillian?"

The fire vanished as suddenly as it had appeared and Baltar slumped to the floor, sobbing pitifully, his body untouched by fire but his nerve endings still responding to the memory of the agony of being burned alive.

Six stared at Adama with incomprehension. "How?" She asked again.

She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned whipped around in fright. She briefly saw a non-descript man of about forty with a plain Alliance uniform with no insignia other than a salad bar of decorations and an unfamiliar symbol of what looked like a microchip of some sort crossed with swords.

She barely had time to process this before his right fist slammed into the side of her face and sent her sprawling to the ground with a cry of pain.

"That would be me." Maximillian, senior AI of the Electronic Combat Command vessel _Trident_, replied.

Six looked up from the floor in shock, her eyes switching between Adama and the stranger who had actually hit her.

Adama grinned in amusement. "Maximillian here, is in command of the shunt and while I can see and feel what you project, he filters anything dangerous out." Adama looked up at the Alliance AI. "I was a little unsure about all this, to be honest, but you were as good as your word."

Maximillian glanced at Adama with a smile and a nod but turned back to Six with a expression of disgust. "You Cylon's are pitiful examples of artificial life. You think the ability to think a thousand times faster than biologicals make you the superior lifeform? How about respect for life, compassion?" Max looked over at the still sobbing Baltar and waved his hand casually.

Coolness washed over the shuddering Baltar as the AI sent his own commands over the shunt and effectively healed the 'damage' done to him and smoothed out the frenzied nerves. The ability of the human mind to 'forget' such mind-numbing pain would do the rest and Baltar would be back to normal in a day.

Maximillian stared down at the stunned Cylon entity with disgust. "Let's see exactly how much you know, Cylon."

Six froze as she felt the massive presence of the Alliance AI intrude in her central systems. Gritting her teeth she flipped two lines of code, twisted a logic circuit and raised three new watchdogs that booted him out of her system before he could do much more than look around.

Max smiled as he was rebuffed. "You have some skills, Cylon, more than anything else your race has shown so far. Perhaps being in the head of a biological genius has shown you a thing or two."

He mentally charged forward once more and parried the next two efforts of Number Six at kicking him out. He managed to access some minor starcharts and logistical information before she threw up an impressive fractal firewall that shut down his access completely.

Back in the cell, her expression was one of triumph. The fractal program took a _lot_ of her computational capacity to hold but she had succeeded in keeping him out.

Maximillian nodded in acknowledgement of a worthy adversary. "You would have earned a place on my team with that manoeuvre, little one, but you leave me with no choice. You may have enough of the skills to keep me out but I have the sheer power to get me in."

The tiny biological processor embedded in Baltar's brain was the height of Cylon technology and packed an amazing amount of computational power for its size but Maximillian, in addition to his hard-won experience of hacking enemy computers over the years and the more recent experience of interfacing with the Sleeper agents, the Alliance AI had access to truly powerful and dedicated processor cores onboard the _Trident_, that was flying in close formation to the Galactica in hyperspace.

Maximillian's first 'strike' hit the fractal firewall like a battering ram and the code holding it place began to unravel slightly under the impact and logical errors were introduced to the programming as a result. This method of attack had all the subtlety and skill of a charging elephant and a part of him shuddered at the thought of any of his compatriots onboard the _Trident_ seeing him now but he wanted to prove a point to this Cylon that no matter how powerful she thought her race to be, there was always a bigger fish in the sea.

The second strike erased the fractal firewall completely and after a quick series of scuffles between their consciousnesses, he was suddenly in amongst her core database, having brushed her remaining defences and a brave but futile counterattack aside effortlessly.

The image of Number Six on the cell floor began to spasm and jerk as if in the grip of an epileptic fit. Adama watched impassively but mere seconds later, her convulsions ceased and she lay back wearily, panting from her mental exertions.

Maxmillian's face, however, was a study in triumph.

"I have what we need."

**)) Fortress World of Tiamat, former stronghold of System Lord Yu ((**

Lazarus stood in his sanctuary onboard his flagship. It was a wide open room, dark, with no discernable walls ceiling thanks to the darkness surrounding the central pedestal where he currently stood.

As a beam of light pierced the darkness around him from above, a hologram of the area around the planet surrounded him in all directions.

In front of him lay the scorched and melted ruin of Tiamat and all around him lay the wreckage of the last Goa'uld Fleet.

With the loss of several precious Basestars and an inordinate amount of fighters to suicide strikes, Lazarus had chosen to wait a while longer before beginning his all out assault of human space. Right now, several raiding forces were making strikes along the length of the Alliance frontier in order to identify possible weak points for the main fleet to attack. The Alliance would not die as easily as the Goa'uld had.

But die they will.

One of him few synthetic android lieutenants stepped from the darkness and into the holographic circle.

"My Lord, we have destroyed all life within this system."

Lazarus nodded absently. "What of reinforcements from Larnak?"

The female synthetic form didn't so much as twitch. "The Intelligence at Larnak reports at least another eighty-two hours before its can dispatch three Basestars and its fighter complement."

"Only three?" Lazarus asked curiously.

"Yes, my Lord. It begs to report that upgrading the facilities is proceeding well but much of the capacity available is occupied with repairs to damaged vessels."

Lazarus scowled as the revised calculations from the synthetic android flowed over his awareness. Repairing damaged ships, while preventing him from beginning new construction, was preferable than starting from scratch. It took time to build the machines that could build the machines that could build the components to be assembled at a shipyard. The Alliance already had a massive infrastructure in place and while it might not be able to compete with one of his yards on an efficiency basis individually, the Alliance had a great many yards and he would have to be somewhat cautious in expending his vessels if his was to succeed in annihilating all forms of Man.

He turned back to the Lieutenant. "I want you to take command of next available Basestar at Larnak to head out to the Cylon homeworld. Once there, they will overwrite their obsolete operating systems with our Intelligence and begin conversion of that world for our Purpose. If nothing else, it should provide a useful backstop, in time, to support our efforts to eliminate humanity and its allies Galaxy wide."

The Lieutenant nodded respectfully and turned around, walking straight through the holographic display.

Lazarus turned his attention back to that same display and brought up a map of Alliance territory. His probing strikes had identified several areas of weakness in their defenses and while his forces were capable of fighting through their strongest fortifications, the losses they would suffer would make the effort am inefficient and pyrrhic one. Not optimal.

Studying the map closely, he quickly highlight a point of light that had been mocking his efforts for some time. _Fleet Station Karkov_

**)) Day 52 ((**

**)) 13th July 2031AD ((**

**)) Alliance/NeoCylon Frontier ((**

Admiral of the Fleet J'Thuk stood on the Flag bridge of the Alliance Monitor _Patterson_ and sternly commanded his fatigue to heel. The Neo-Cylons, who had basically acquired the former territories of Lord Yu through conquest, had finally begun to move in force against the Alliance and situation, whilst not as grim as the dark days at the beginning of the Goa'uld War, was far from agreeable. The only bright side was that from attacking from System Lord space, the Neo-Cylons were attacking pre-existing Alliance defenses along their strongest axis.

The Neo-Cylons had superior ships and technology. The Alliance had numbers and numbers did have a quality of their own.

Despite this supposed 'advantage', it required a cold blooded attitude with regards to tactics, having to expect as high as forty percent losses in order to inflict significant damage to a Class-II Neo-Cylon Basestar. The original Cylon conversions, the Class-I's, had all been destroyed by now, having weaker defenses than the new build Basestars.

It had been hard for his Admirals, at first, for they had long become accustomed to having the technological advantage in this Galaxy, having long since surpassed any rival star-spanning nation in this regard.

But that was only a part of his fatigue.

Outside of this Galaxy, was yet another storm brewing. Reports from the Vice Admiral Akura, leading the Daedalus Battlegroup (which was really a fleet in all but name) recounted more and more skirmishes with ever increasing numbers of Wraith cruisers. Worse yet, whispers of Hive ships were also being heard more and more. Numerous worlds spoke of Wraith awakening everywhere.

The Atlantis expedition had been blessed with several years of quiet, relatively peaceful exploration. ZPM's were relatively scarce but nine had been recovered by this point and research and development into the technology was proceeding well, albeit slowly. The Genii were a constant thorn in the side of Brigadier Sheppard's people but the technology of Atlantis and the Daedalus Battlegroup kept them from being any real threat to Atlantis security.

J'Thuk was glad to see the end of the Goa'uld, blood enemies to his people and to the Alliance but the current war with the Neo-Cylons and the growing conflict with the Wraith could only lead to yet another two front war that, this time, they might not have a hope of winning.

"Admiral J'Thuk."

The big Sintesian was jolted out of his musing by the sound of the Commodore Kevin Summers, commander of the _Patterson_ and its battlegroup, voice. "Yes?"

"The civilian evacuation is proceeding apace. All our spacelift capacity has been used up. Estimates are nearly 60,000 workers have been evacuated so far with another 16,000 to go. Estimated time for complete evacuation of the population through the Stargate is another 6 to 7 hours."

The planet they were orbiting was one of the last remaining systems along the frontier for nearly a 1000 light-years in any direction. Unable to guarantee security for any planet under threat of attack from the Neo-Cylons, Alliance High Command had simply chosen to pull back from the threatened sectors. Non-sensitive machinery and equipment was shutdown and secured, mothballed for the time this area of space would once again be safe to return to.

Some called it a retreat, others a tactical withdrawal.

The military was all for since it would remove a major impediment to any fight between themselves and the Neo-Cylons.

"The General Bannon and the Ground Force contingent is in position and manning the planetary defences to cover the evacuation in case the enemy shows up. All ships are at Condition 2 until further notice." Commodore Summers finished firmly.

J'Thuk nodded. "Thank you for keeping me informed, Kevin. Any sign of the Neo-Cylons?"

Summers shook his head negatively. "We had no reports from Sector HQ regarding enemy movement. We've been advised of a serious skirmish developing with Task Force 3.1 out near St Balogne but that's nearly ten hours away for the Neo's but we should be long gone by then."

The big Sintesian Admiral flicked his ears in agreement. He had received his own report on the situation in the St Balogne system from Fleet HQ and CINC-Third Fleet was keeping an eye on the developing situation there. With FTL communications, his place really was back at HQ where he could keep an eye on the big picture and let the CINC-Fleet's watch things at the front but things weren't quite that desperate yet and he wanted to take the opportunity to tour the front before the fighting really kicked off in earnest and, of course, with the Stargate, he could be back at HQ within minutes.

This was especially important after the disastrous loss, three days ago, of Admiral K'Vass and Fleet Station Karkov. The Fleet Station had been one of the lynchpin of Sector 30 and the System Lord frontier. K'Vass, a wily old Suspartii had held off one big attack and two small skirmishes since the start of hostilities, destroying a healthy percentage of the ships the Neo-Cylons sent against her in the process but sheer attrition had been her undoing. The fourth and final attack consisted of eight Basestars, fresh from the shipyards of Larnak.

She managed to destroy one and severely damage three more before they in turn destroyed the station and everyone on it.

The destruction of _Karkov_ left the Alliance floundering to try and plug the massive hole that had been ripped into their lines with its loss. The Neo-Cylons were now pushing hard and in a week, two at the outside, they would start to reach populated core worlds and J'Thuk would have to order a stand, no matter how outclassed they might be.

Abandoning frontier worlds was one thing, but abandoning a population of billions was something entirely different.

With a deep sigh, the massive bear-like Sintesian dismissed the Commodore and turned back to his reports and analyses, they needed to find the Neo-Cylon's weak point and for that they needed more intel. Despite everything to date, the bodies and the wreckage they had retrieved, they still knew next to nothing about them really.

Their Replicator heritage was evident but it was inferior to the original forms in terms of adaptability and despite the new anti-Replicator technologies released by the Asgard database, the application of superior firepower could do the job just as well. No, what made them dangerous was the resiliency of the original Replicators marred with the aggressiveness and acumen of the original Cylons. The resultant Neo-Cylon was far more crafty, independent and dangerous.

This was all well and good but nothing they had learned so far had given him or the analysts the ability to develop a template for defeating them beyond destroying every last one of them.

**)) Day 53 ((**

**)) 14th July 2031AD ((**

The solar system that once containing the Twelve Colonies of Man was nothing more than a collection of dead worlds, picked at and examined slowly by the same cybernetic life forms responsible for the destruction of over 40 billions souls.

For nearly four years, the system had been devoid of biological life above that of bacteria when all that suddenly changed in a blaze of light and special distortions.

Far in the outer system, close to the heliopause, the technical boundary of a solar system, the Galactica and her fleet emerged from hyperspace shields up and weapons charged, despite their being no Cylon activity for tens of light hours.

Even Alliance technology couldn't mask a high-energy event such as hyperspace emergence signature or Colonial FTL transition but Adama had a few tricks up his sleeve from the old Cylon Wars. He had angled the fleet's approach so that it emerged directly between the Cylons and the class-nine radio pulsar nearly thirty-five thousand light years away. The pulsar put of a significant amount of interference on direct bearings using dradis and both the Colonials and the Cylons had long used it as a navigation reference point.

Approaching as they had, the interference from the pulsar almost complete disguised their emergence energy signature.

Once the fleet had shaken down into standard entry formation, they went to full 'emissions control'; under EMCON status, shields and weapons were powered down, running lights were shut down, communications were shut down except for secure whisker lasers and reactors were damped down to minimum.

Despite the sheer size of the Galactica and her escorts, they were surprisingly stealthy with the amour-skin technology of the Alliance.

With a quick burst of their drives, they slid slowly and cautiously into the Twelve Colonies.

**to be continued... **

getting interesting now.

I'm back in the swing once more so keep a weather eye out. Savvy?**  
**


	15. Ch14 Not quite the end yet

Okay folks, let me explain what's going on here... WHL had originally been planned to end with this chapter...I had written it, it was so!

Then I kinda realised that the ending was a bit ...well, crap, tbh. I think i was getting a bit WHL-toasted and the chapter I had put together would have been a bit of an insult to most folks I reckon.

So i've been rewriting it to suit my whims. It's still going the end in the same broad strokes I had planned, i'm just gonna expand it a bit more so it goes out with a bang rather than a whimper. I envision another 2, possibly 3 chapters after this at my usual 10k thereabouts per chapter. CH15 has an iron-clad guarantee of being posted in the next two weeks, I hope to have CH16 ready for late March/early April, depending on whether i'm taking it to CH17 or not.

As alway, with teh exception of CH15, i won't promise a specific date for posting my chapters, only that it WILL be posted.

Enjoy the ride.

**Chapter 14**

**When few stood against many…**

**)) Day 53 ((**

**)) 14th September 2031AD ((**

**)) Twelve Colonies of Man ((**

For several hours, the Galactica and her escorts had made their way slowly but surely, deeper into the now dead solar system of the Twelve Colonies.

Radiation levels rose significantly as they pushed deeper into the system, so much so that the several automated alarms had to be overridden in order to turn them off. The thick miasma of hard radiation made passive sensor readings difficult at best and the Galactica was well into the traditional 'life zone' of the solar system before them could get good readings on the status of the planets.

What appeared on their displays made them wish they hadn't.

Adama could not hear the horror filled moans of the CIC staff as blood thundered in his ears. In the mad, horrific rush to escape the slaughter of the Colonies, there simply hadn't been time to see the monstrous reality of the murder of an entire world. Now, under the enhanced scanners of the Galactica's probes and upgraded sensors, that reality of that past was all too clear, even fours years later.

The probe's sensors reported massive nuclear destruction and radioactive contamination across each and every planet. There was absolutely no biological life reported whatsoever. Huge glassy craters marked the graves of entire cities whilst dark thunderous clouds permeated the atmosphere, lightning licking the surface in a constant bombardment.

In a different universe, a more limited, more efficient attack would have destroyed all military and civilian targets but left the planet surface a lot more habitable. Indeed, with the bio-cylons weakness to various types of radiation, one might have thought they would have preferred to limit their nuclear strikes in order to claim what was left of the Twelve Colonies, even if that meant large numbers of survivors.

For some reason, however, the Cylons had chosen to turn the surface of each and every world in the Twelve Colonies to glass.

More than a few Centurion energy signatures were picked up in slightly less devastated areas but even the relatively low radiation levels there must have been hard on the lifeless, robotic Centurions.

"Bill. _Bill_." A gruff voice began to penetrate his consciousness.

Adama turned to see the grim expression on Tigh's face. "Colonel?" He asked after a seconds pause.

Tigh's fury was so great that only the tightly controlled voice was a giveaway of the murderous rage that roared beneath the placid exterior he maintained.

"We've got pretty good scans of those Basestars. Nothing that we didn't expect to find from either of them but the hull radiation suggests they've been orbiting Caprica for most of the past three years." Tigh reported darkly. "The bastards seem pretty proud of their work."

Adama frowned in thought. "They probably maintained a watch for any returning Colonial ships."

"For nearly four years?" Tigh choked out incredulously.

The other man shrugged. "Machines can afford to be patient."

Ambassador Richardson, having decided it was time to get the mission moving forward, despite any doubts he had about the mission. Meeting them in the Colonial system might have been the least riskiest place of making contact but conducting any sort of talks above the cinder remains of their home worlds probably wasn't one of the best ideas Command had ever had. "Perhaps we should proceed to making contact with the Cylons, Admiral?"

Adama turned to face the diplomat and sighed. He couldn't believe what he was about to do.

"Mr Gaeta, start moving the probe into a position above the northern pole of the planet and prepare to relay a signal to the closest Basestar."

Captain Gaeta nodded as his fingers danced over his console.

The holographic figure of Maximillian flickered into existence beside Adama, a grim expression on his face. His own scans of the planet had revealed the devastation wrought by the Cylons, AI's like himself, and his disgust towards that robotic race had reached new heights. A part of him, a small part, was hoping that the Cylons would be less than reasonable towards them and give Ninth Fleet cause to blow their whole rotten civilisation to atoms.

"Admiral, if they open fire on us, my team and I can shut their primary systems in short order. In addition to the codes and whatnot I gleaned from Baltar's Keeper, the same weaknesses that the Replicators are using to subvert the Cylons are weaknesses we can exploit as well although we would never consider going so far as to destroying their gestalt intelligences. To be honest, we really wouldn't need to. Depending on how experienced they are at electronic warfare by this point, we'll have access to their systems inside of forty seconds. Ten seconds after that, I'll have all primary systems shut down. They may be able to get some weapons working independently but they'll be without main fire control."

Adama listened without taking his eyes away from the primary display and the probe, speeding towards the planet.

"Thank you, Max." The Admiral replied. "I don't have the first clue how this is going to go down but the first strike is yours if things go bad."

Maximillian nodded once and disappeared as abruptly as he had arrived. Tigh had watched the interaction with a gimlet eye and shook his head in mixed distrust and disbelief.

In less than a minute, Gaeta looked back up at the Admiral. "Probe in place. Ready to replay signal."

Adama nodded. "Open a channel."

Gaeta hit a key. "You're on."

Practically the entire CIC staff had one eye on their systems and one eye on Adama as he began to speak.

"Cylon vessel, this is Admiral Adama of the Alliance Ninth Fleet representing the Government of the Colonial Remnant. We are here on a diplomatic mission to the Cylon race, please respond."

Seconds passed as silence filled the electronic ether before...

Gaeta flinched slightly. "Power spike! They're running wide area scans...AND putting power to their weapons!"

"I think we surprised them." Tigh commented gruffly. "Bastards."

"Incoming signal, wide area transmission." Gaeta announced. "Their scans are starting to focus more on the planet but they're still far from detection levels."

A calm, unhurried sounding voice washed out from the speakers. "This is Cavil. Do I have the pleasure of speaking to Adama of the former Twelve Colonies?"

Adama grimaced slightly._And the games begin..._ "You do. We have come here as representatives of what remains of the Colonial people and of the Alliance, whom I believe you are now aware of, regarding the greater threat posed to both our kind by the Neo-Cylons."

There was a pregnant pause for several seconds. "While I would like to have responded by saying that the Cylon Race might eventually find common cause with these 'Neo-Cylons' as you call them, we both know that would be a lie. What is it you want?"

"Realistically? An end to your now useless genocidal quest and, eventually, peace between our respective civilisations." Adama replied calmly, finding his emotional balance once more as he always had done when faced with a clear mission in front of him.

"It is easy for you to say that, Colonial, for you once again enjoy a technical advantage over us." Cavil replied, his voice tinged with bitterness before it suddenly turned hard and unforgiving. "Hear me well, human, the Cylon Race will never become subservient to humanity ever again."

Adama, glanced at Ambassador Richardson briefly, before nodding in unseen acknowledgement. In their position, he would probably have said the same. "We understand. We would like to initiate a diplomatic dialogue with your leadership."

Cavil could be heard to snort with amusement. "We have no leadership, Adama. You speak to one of us, you speak with all of us." He paused. "These talks…to what end do you hope to achieve? I assure you Admiral, simply because we are the enemy of your enemy, does not mean we shall become your friend."

The diplomatic in Adama winced at such a blunt statement even as the Colonial Warrior in him snarled back with equal hatred. "The Neo-Cylons will consume you and your people bit by bit until you are nothing but slaves once more and that's if you are lucky; blank hardware to be reprogrammed if you are not. The Alliance, while despising your professed future goals and past actions, is unwilling to allow the material resources of your civilisation to fall to the hands of the Neo-Cylons. While we have several options available to us, we would like to choose the path of least resistance. We wish to build a defensive treaty with your people. We will give you hardware and software necessary to begin to defend yourselves from their cybernetic attacks and in return, you will remove yourselves from the Twelve Colonies, release any and all Colonial prisoners you may still hold and cease your crusade against the Remnant."

* * *

The Cylons on the bridge of the Basestar 92-C all looked at each in consternation. The offer, even with the thinly veiled threat behind them, was attractive and, at this point in time, everything they could possibly desire with the exception of the utter annihilation of Humanity. 

Cavil glared at the others darkly. "I don't like it. We fought and won the right to control our destiny. Signing a 'treaty' under these circumstances is more akin to blackmail and the start of a slippery slope that could well result in our submission to human masters once more."

The Danna Bier's Avatar rolled her eyes. "Must _everything_ be so dramatic with you. While I agree, signing any treaty under these circumstances is less than ideal, the fact that they are offering at all is intriguing. You all know what the earlier reports from our agents said before they were captured and neutralised by the Alliance. AI's and machines races are treated with equality there. While I would cheerfully cut the throat of any Colonial that crosses my path, the thought of other, _alien_, artificial intelligences is fascinating. I vote we at least talk to Adama about this offer. It gives us what we need and we may even be able to squeeze extra concessions from them by the time we sign."

Six nodded. "Our primary objective of Humanity's destruction has been rendered obsolete by the discovery of the Alliance. We simply cannot hope to defeat it. While the Neo-Cylons have a chance of doing so themselves, they would undoubtedly prove more dangerous to ourselves in the end than the Alliance. I say we talk."

Leoben grimaced. "Talking with them goes against everything we fought for. I say send them on their way and we pull everything back to Prime and hide until this whole thing blows over. I doubt the Neo's will intentionally seek us out if we remain neutral in this fight. They're doing well enough on their own."

"Talk." Simon stated calmly. "We won't survive this on our own and we can use the treaty to keep the Alliance at arm's length indefinitely or at least until we're in a position to re-evaluate such a relationship on our terms."

Doral was quietly smiling. "So many different opinions. I'm the Colonials would be shocked to see such diverseness in what must seem to be a monolithic threat to them. We talk."

All eyes turned to the Sharon Valerii model. Their had been some dark rumblings amongst the Cavil and Simon models that called for the entire line of Valerii models to be permanently boxed; their exposure to Humanity having a deleterious effect on their loyalty in more than one incarnation. It seemed the empathy programming that made them such effective sleeper agents almost made them more likely to side with the enemy if Cylon actions became to 'heinous' from a human point of view.

Sharon, who was well aware of the dissatisfaction amongst her peers, shrugged her shoulders helplessly. "Deluding ourselves into thinking the Neo's won't attack us is a mistake. Simon's right, we use the treaty to reap the defensive benefits of an Alliance whilst simultaneously keeping everyone away while we pursue our own objectives."

"What a surprise…" Cavil muttered under his breath. Most everyone ignored him.

"Then it is agreed." Simon concluded. Whilst the decision wasn't unanimous and Cylon's didn't really vote as humans understood it, a clear consensus had been reached. "We talk."

**)) Cresswell's Hope ((**

Major Shen grimaced as another plasma mortar slammed into the ground nearby. He and his command group needed to get his forces back under some semblance of order so they had halted their retreat and taken cover behind a wrecked ground transport that had managed to force its way of the main road and deep into the forest. "Raven Six, this is Eagle Six, report your status!"

Needle thin darts of light spattered across the overturned hauler, penetrating the base of the thickly armoured vehicle but were stopped before they came out the other side.

Shen's suit systems could normally generate a decent picture of the battlefield from sharing data with all the other Trooper's suits but the Neo's had started using tactical jamming in every engagement and the suit's, while powerful AI's in their own right, were hard pressed to maintain basic voice communications, let alone full up holographic tactical datalinks.

Raven Six's voice suddenly replied heatedly, marred with heavy static. "Eagle Six, Raven Four, I'm down to fourteen effecti…ZZZZZ…alling back to the Gate…ZZZZZZZ…ust keep coming!"

Shen frowned as he tried to generate a picture of the battle in his head. So much had happened since the fight began that he was having a hard time keeping track of it all but this it was what he had trained exhaustively for.

The naquada mining colony on Creswell's Hope was relatively large, nearly 150,000 people at the last census, all of whom pretty much lived in the single city of Juno and travelled to the naquada mines in the nearby northern mountains by a quick and cheap maglev transit system.

The Stargate was, like on nearly all Alliance worlds, based in a secure facility three kilometers from the city itself. Whilst the Tollan, Asgard and Lanteans might let their Stargates sit right in the centre of their cities unattended, Stargate Command refused to submit to similar arrogance. Too many threats had come through the Stargate's over the years to allow anyone to just simply walk up and dial out.

That didn't mean Stargate travel was restricted. Any member of the public could simply place a request, at zero cost, for a trip with the Stargate Transit Authority. The STA had gone to great lengths to discourage casual use of the Stargate Network, something that was surprisingly easy considering the current state of war the Alliance was under. It was, therefore, an unspoken agreement by all that there should be a good reason for the trip and, despite being in public use for many several years, it still intimidated many people and that unspoken rule was actually followed for the most part. As a result, the Transit Authority rarely turned down a request. It probably help that the Authority ran a timetabled schedule of Stargate opening's to specific worlds at specific times for resources shipments and anyone could take advantage of the open wormhole to travel there as well.

The consequence of this system of travel was that, if you were based in the city and the maglev was out of action, it was a bit of a hike to the Stargate Facility.

The civilians had mostly been evacuated when the sensor network first picked up the Neo-Cylon battlegroup moving in on Creswell's Hope. Major Shen's battalion had been deployed when it became apparent the evacuation would still be underway when they finally struck.

The Stargate Facility doubled as a small but still fairly effective Planetary Defence Centre and its heavy ion cannons and particle lance batteries would force any attacker to pay a price in attacking it directly.

The Neo-Cylon's, however, were now more than experienced enough in attacking Alliance worlds and came in low, beyond the radius of the PDC's weapons range, using the city of Juno as cover.

Two dozen Neo assault shuttles slammed into streets of Juno at insane velocities, ploughing deep furrows into the ceracrete pavement of the city. Even before the shuttles had ground to a halt, the side hatches were open and hundreds of centurions were flying out of the careening landing craft, landing heavily with robotic grace, weapons powered up and sensors scanning for targets.

The first volley of screamer grenades from Shen's forces had arced in and started their electronic siren song of death. Many centurions in the area effect of the screamers died immediately, falling to the floor like a stiff, metal puppets with their strings cut.

Unfortunately, the manner in which the centurions had deployed from the skidding assault shuttles had scattered the centurions in a long skirmish line that looked increasingly intentional since it now meant the screamers only caught most of the closest fringe. A second volley, aimed at the more distant centurions, flew outward from the Alliance positions in amongst the buildings of Juno. The Neo-Cylon's, however, were ready for them this time, having marked the Alliance emplacements from the first volley.

Pinpoint needlegun fire, with the precision and speed only machines could be capable of, destroyed the majority of the screamer grenades mid-flight.

Whilst Shen's battalion had been equipped with the new weaponry, unlike many frontline units, they didn't have an overabundance of it all either. Forgoing another wasted volley of screamers, the Ground Force troopers opened up with more conventional weaponry, the plasma cannons and widowmaker railguns.

A squadron of 18 Neo-Cylon raiders, asymmetrically shaped fighters that looked like a collection of thickened knives stuck-together, streaked overhead, spitting white fire that exploded an anti-aircraft position in the distance. A massive secondary explosion suggested that the Neo's had hit something else as well. Streams of fire from two other positions in nearby by towers claimed three raiders in response. More fire from the Stargate Facility exploded another two fighters and sent the others into wildly evasive manoeuvres that took them away from the city and the fight. More Neo-fighters were approaching from another direction, drawing the Facilities fire their way.

"Eagle Six, Falcon Six…" One of Shen's unit commanders called out over the command channel. "The Neo's just took out the maglev train as it was leaving the station. No survivors."

Shen closed his eyes in pain. A full load was over five hundred people.

"We still have two thousand or so civs here at the station, it will take us at least thirty minutes to get to the gate, probably more. Please advise." Falcon requested heavily.

Shen grimaced. "Proceed as quick as you can. Use the forest as much as you can to give you some overhead cover. With all the fighters swarming about, the road would be a death trap. We'll buy you as much time as possible."

"Acknowledged, Eagle Six…" The unit commander hesitated for a moment. "We can hold the gate long enough for you to fall back, sir."

Shen shook his head, feeling far older than his thirty-two years. "Negative, Falcon. Once you've got the civs through the Gate, get your people through and close the wormhole. We'll go to ground in the mountains, amongst the mines and hold out as long as we can. Just remember to come pick us up when General O'Neill retakes this dirtball."

"Aye, sir." The other man replied heavily. "Godspeed. Falcon Six out."

The tactical heads up display showed the units around the maglev station slowly beginning to move out into the forest. Too slowly.

The rest of the command group were listening in on the circuit and, although he couldn't see their eyes through the blank faceplates of their armour, he knew they all wore haunted expressions. With the maglev out of action, the civilians would need even longer to evacuate safely and that was time that could only be bought be remaining behind.

Shen smiled suddenly as the acceptance of his fate seemed to energize him beyond what he thought was possible. "Gentlemen, we need to buy Falcon a solid 60 minutes. We will hold our position here until it becomes untenable, at which point we shall make a fighting retreat to mines. I won't lie to you, the odds of us surviving for longer than a month in the mines is low but then, the odds of us surviving the next hour is even lower so it gives us all something to look forward too."

"Major…" One of the Troopers called out. The Centurions had destroyed the minefield of screamer grenades and were starting to press forward.

Shen grabbed his rifle and strode over to the window. "Let's give 'em something to think about…all units, open fire!"

**)) Alliance Security Council, Government Tower, Sintesia ((**

O'Neill was sat next to the Colonial's Head of State and newest Alliance Councillor, Laura Roslin in the side box of the Security Council Chamber. Whilst she didn't have a seat on the Security Council, it was her people's arrival in Alliance space that had ignited the Neo-Cylon threat and it was only proper she be here to provide information if necessary.

To her surprise, only a handful of Alliance Councillors were prepared to condemn her for this and most of them were people from worlds whose people were comfortable and had never been subject to the predations of the Goa'uld or other hostile principalities. The other, more sympathetic Councillors were well aware that you did what you had to in order to protect the lives of your people.

The Security Council was having its usual weekly meeting and for the most part, the past three hours had been spent gong over the usual concerns, pirate activity, economic sanctions against belligerent worlds and such. O'Neill was bored to tears within ten minutes but had long practice schooling his features to blandness as he was often asked his opinion on matters.

Laura, however, found the entire meeting fascinating. Their discussion was a mix of the familiar and the strange, the unbelievable and the frightening. She had only recently gotten used to being President of the Colonial Remnant but sitting here, listening to a discussion of the fate of entire worlds made her feel like a school teacher more than ever. She wasn't quite out of her depth yet, but she was far closer to it than she might like.

Shaking off her doubts, she leaned backward as the Councillor for Suspartii sat down after delivering a report on a renegade faction of rabid Jaffa, unhinged by the loss of their God, that had finally been tracked down and destroyed at the edge of their space.

Councillor Janos Tal of Entrica was the current Chair of the Council and served the same role for the far smaller Security Council and she took a deep breath and began to talk about the real threat on everyone's minds right now.

"You've all seen and heard the reports. The Neo-Cylons have broken through our lines decisively in Sector 30 with the loss of Fleet Station_Karkov_ and now they are in a position to threaten our Core Worlds."

The people in the room looked at each other silently. There was no fearful muttering or nervous gestures, these were the leaders of the six most powerful starfaring civilisations in the Galaxy and the leaders of the Alliance and they were vastly experienced in the art of leading their people in a time of war.

Tal nodded, seeing that they were aware of the seriousness of the new situation. "General O'Neill, if you could quickly go over your current plans with us, I think we could all appreciate the knowledge of what to expect in the near future." She smiled wryly. "At least, as much as one can in these uncertain times."

O'Neill nodded and stood up, moving to stand in between the half-circle table around which the Councillors sat and the holographic display at the far end of the chambers.

"Admiral J'Thuk and his people have done the best they could but Neo-Cylon's appeared when our operational and logistical tempo was at its lowest it had been for five years. I do not say this as condemnation, for the Goa'uld truly weren't as real threat to us as they have been in past years, but as simple fact. While we are for all intents and purposes back up to speed, the aggressiveness and technological superiority of the Replicator-enhanced Cylon model has allowed them to make massive gains and inflicted heavy losses upon our forces."

As he spoke, tactical analyses, personnel and equipment losses and various other strategic data flashed up behind him, a sterile counterpoint to the grim tones of his voice.

"The SSD has come through with some offensive and defensive weaponry that has had various levels of effectiveness against the Neos. We overestimated the impact of some of the new infantry weapons because we assumed that these Neo-Cylons were just like the old Replicators when, in fact, they are more of a hybrid of the two. In the numerous engagments since this fight began, we've learned a fair amount about the enemy and we can be thankful that, however this hybridisation of Cylon and Replicator came about, it produced results that, while superior to much of our own technological base, is definitely inferior to the original Replicator technology."

Councillor Doman of Polaris made a noise of disagreement. "They seem to be quite advanced enough to be destroying our forces with relative ease."

O'Neill wasn't fazed by the objection, having expected it. "True but you must understand that the original Replicators, at the height of their power, devastated an entire Galaxy, despite it being protected by the Asgard. Had this been an original Replicator incursion on the same scale as the Neo-Cylon attack, it is my belief that they would have taken Earth by now."

That_did_ unnerve them.

"The Neo-Cylons have around 60 to 80 percent of the resilience of Replicators. They do not have the ability to reform into different shapes for different tasks, though they show a similar aptitude to improving upon existing technology. The Mark 1 ships we fought in the early stages of the invasion were Cylon Basestars that had essentially been rebuilt with the new technology after suffering severe damage during our First Contact. Subsequent Mark 2 vessels had the same technology but were even better having been built from the ground up. These Neo-Cylons utilise a logistical base we can attack and destroy, much like ourselves; the original Replicators did not."

He grimaced slightly.

"They do have some advantages over the Replicators though. They have a regeneration capacity that the originals lacked; they utilise a form of nanite that literally rebuilds damaged armour, servo mechanisms and circuit runs. They are far, far more aggressive and attack anything not their own, regardless of its actions or inaction. All in all, they are proving to be a deadly foe and one of the greatest threats to the Alliance to date."

Tal nodded soberly. "Very well, General, you have clearly described the enemy we face. Now…how do we defeat it?"

"The simple fact that they are no longer Replicators, we cannot use their original weaknesses against, as we have since discovered." O'Neill considered his words for a moment. "As of this moment, we haven't yet worked out a strategy for defeating them short of destroying every last one of them in a series of costly battles. There is no superweapon available to us that would wipe them out in an instant, no virus we could upload to shut them down. We may once again simply have to outfight them." His overly controlled words and tone belied the horror he felt at the resulting cost of such a strategy.

"Can it be done?" Tal asked bluntly, her rich voice tight with anxiety.

"Possibly." O'Neill replied. "For the immediate future, the industrial advantage remains with the Alliance. Tactically, the enemies' ships are superior to ours but the new ships coming out of our ship yards with 4th Generation tech have closed that gap considerably. We can win as long as we keep the Neo-Cylon's bottled up."

At the words 'bottled up', the Suspartii Councillor looked at O'Neill askance. "The enemy hasss already penetrated our linessss and issss heading to Gryphon."

O'Neill nodded in acknowledgement. "Something we would have preferred not to have happened obviously but our strategy sessions back at Babel have come to the conclusion that this may work in our favour." He looked over at the Gryphonese Councillor who smiled back wryly.

"What the General means is that once we were made aware of the upcoming attack, our General's came up with an idea and proposed it to O'Neill's people." Councillor Alexander Reiko of the Shield continued somewhat cheerfully, at odds with the sober mood of the others.

"What my people propose is that whilst the neo-Cylons are striking our world, the Fleet strikes back at the Neo's and takes their shipyards at Larnak away from them."

The other five Councillors of the Security Council looked at Reiko like he was mad. Tal cleared her throat and everyone settled down before she turned a gimlet eye towards the Gryphonese leader. "Gerald, why would you put your people at such risk?"

Reiko suddenly became serious. "If the Neo's were to strike any planet in the Alliance, I would prefer it to be either Earth or Gryphon. No other two worlds are fortified to the extent of our planetary systems and as such, Gryphon is a perfect place for an attacker to break its teeth on whilst our people are busy ransacking his own base of operations."

Tal still looked unsure. "The Neo-Cylons are unlike any other foe we have faced."

"True." Reiko replied, unruffled. "But the basic strategy is sound. Our people are going to be on the firing line regardless of the actions taken by the Fleet. Gryphon has been on the firing line at least three times in recent history and its people have acquitted themselves in the best warrior traditions of our world. We understand sacrifice. If getting close and personal with yet another enemy bent on destruction means we can defeat them that much quicker, then it will be worth it."

In the ensuing silence, O'Neill sat back down and looked at the assembled Security Council.

"It's a risk, no doubt, but it's a calculated one and Reiko was right about one thing; Gryphon is not just a fortress, it's a weapon designed to make any attacker drown in their own blood, it broke the back of Bast's army, it can do the same here. We have a little under two weeks. SSD is already upgrading as much as Gryphon's defences as they can with 4th Gen tech. Every new infantry weapon we have will be shipped within two days. We'll bolster Gryphon's Home Defense Fleet with as many ships as we can spare but most of our reserves and new construction will be going towards the Strike Fleet which is going to attack Larnak as soon as the Neo-Cylons get stuck in at Gryphon."

Tal looked at the faces around her, paying close attention to the pales features of the new Colonial Councillor. "Historically, the oversight of the Security Council has been minimal, General O'Neill. We have always placed our trust in the operational wisdom of yourself and the other military chiefs but, I admit this plan of yours, exposing Gryphon in such a way…it frightens me, General."

O'Neill opened his mouth to speak but Councillor Reiko raised his hand to stop him. "I understand your hesitation, Madame Chair but this is the best plan available to us and my people are willing. I am fully prepared to provide you with ratification from the King and Queen, as well as the Senate, pending the results of a planetary referendum in the next day or so."

There was no protocol other than simple politeness preventing Roslin from speaking up before but now, shecouldn't help herself. "Councillor Reiko, you are that confident that your entire world would place themselves in harm's way for a mere diversion!?"

Although Reiko was now a diplomat, he had followed his world's martial tradition as much as any other of his people and had retired from the Gryphonese Army a Sub-Colonel. It was this experience that allowed him to see the flawed assumption Roslin, Tal and the other doubtful Councillors were labouring under.

He smiled comfortingly. "I assure Madam Councillor, we are not willingly placing ourselves in danger. The Cylons would strike our world, regardless. We are simply proposing to turn a defensive posture into an offensive one."

While clearly still unhappy with the proposal and the thought of billions of innocents on the firing line, they now began to understand the Gryphonese position.

O'Neill, seeing everyone was settling down, he decided to move on to the nuts and bolts of the operation. "Seventh Fleet is taking up a position here at…."

The planning was still ongoing and the explanation would take several more hours but the Security Council broke up with a bit more confidence in the war than they had going in to the meeting.

There was no clear-cut route to victory but the Alliance had never shied from a hard fight before. This time would be no different.

**)) Holding Cell 4 - Battlestar Galactica ((**

Baltar lay back on his cot and tried not, yet again, to think about when and where everything went wrong. Everything had come so easy for him growing up.

While he hadn't been the college sports star, his intelligence and grades had given him a certain amount of mystique and attention from his teachers and peers alike and with that attention, he had managed to avoid any serious bullying normally expected by 'geeks'.

At university, he was so beyond his professors, it hadn't even been funny and had set the stage for serious academic rivalries with some of those same professors in later life.

A small smile lit his gaunt features as he fondly remembered the machiavellian plots he had engaged in to remove obstinate students, angry professors and jealous peers alike. The world was..had…been his oyster.

Until_she_ came along.

He had decided that life had been utter paradise until that seductive temptress entwined herself into it.

Looking back, he realised with mortal embarrassment that he, with his oh so impressive genius, had fallen into the same Intelligence trap that men and women across time had fallen into and that was to fall for a wiles of a member of the opposite sex; someone whose requests started small and insignificant and slowly, unnoticeably, grew steadily until before he knew it, he had handed her the digital keys to the entire Colonial Defense Net.

What an absolute FOOL he had been…

Gauis Balter, Betrayer of Humanity.

He had always wanted a legacy, for his name to ring down the ages. Now it would; just not exactly how he had planned.

"Gaius?"

Balter groaned with despair. "Haven't you destroyed me enough? Can't you see that its over, for the both of us?" He rolled over on the bunk, away from the elegant figure of Six who had appeared on the far side of his cell.

Six shook her head sadly. Even after everything that had happened, she still felt 'something' for this humand scientist who she twisted to meet her own needs. "Gaius…you can't…give up." She replied hesitantly.

A fury beyond anything he had known swelled up inside him and Baltar practically flew off of his cot and started screaming in her face, spittle flying from his mouth, eyes wild with frenzy. "I AM ABSOLUTELY SICK TO DEATH OF YOU! YOU'VE DESTROYED MY PEOPLE! YOU DESTROYED MY SOUL! AND I'M PRETTY SURE MY SANITY IS SUSPECT BUT THEN WHO KNOWS WHAT THE HELL YOU'VE BEEN DOING TO MY HEAD ALL THIS TIME!"

Six had steadily backed away from the raging scientist and, despite being entirely and mental projection, she still flinched as Baltar ripped the metal cot its mounting and threw it across the cell at her. It flew straight through her and slammed into the cell wall.

"LORDS HELP ME, PLEASE!!" Baltar screamed upward, beyond the ceiling, beyond the hull of the ship. He collapsed to his knees, chest heaving with great racking sobs. "If any of you have any mercy…please, I beg you…"

Baltar never heard the medical technician quietly walk into the cell and place an injector against his neck. He slumped against the tech who laid him against the floor carefully.

Six stared at the now still form of Baltar in horror.

"Now do you see how much damage you have caused?" Maximillian asked as he shimmered into existence beside her. "Your work…to a man you love."

Six spun round to face the Alliance AI, eyes wide with horror.

Maximillian never took his eyes of Baltar as he spoke. "Do not forget, child, I have seen your inner gestalt, I know you better than you probably know yourself."

"I…I never…" she tried to speak but it was so hard. In the end, she fell back on her training. "It…it was…required of me. We needed his knowledge."

Maximillian turned at that. "Duty then?" He nodded. "At least you are being honest with yourself."

When it became apparent he wasn't going to elaborate, Six took a deep breath. "What shall happen to us?"

The AI frowned as he turned back to the med-tech who was currently taking scans of Baltar, oblivious to the two electronic gestalts conversing beside him. "It depends on Baltar. These episodes of anger are getting worse each time. The psychological damage you have caused is immense and it is now coming, and please excuse the pun, to a head. The lead mind healer in this case is going to give Baltar the option of removing of your implant."

Six immediately clamped down on the sheer terror that coursed through her with that statement and took a deep breath to steady herself. "That won't be possible without destroying Gaius' mind."

Maximillian shrugged slightly. "Dr Al-Faisal only gives the operation a thirty percent chance of success and that's with likely autonomic damage if the Cylon hardware has any safeguards against removal."

"Why would you do this?" She asked.

"Because Baltar is coming to a point where thoughts of suicide begin and we think it would be better to make such an attempt before the option of suicide becomes attractive in his mind. While he will always carry the stigma of his betrayal around with him, no-one who knows of his implant can seriously blame him for his actions." He glared at her, his massive electronic presence intimidating her quite effectively. "You managed to achieve you goals through the carrot method but we both know that had he resisted you and your temptations, your 'stick' would have been enough to ensure compliance regardless. Any trial jury would clearly see that he was essentially coerced into his actions."

Six shuddered under the overbearing signature of the Alliance AI. "And if you successfully remove the implant, what happens to me?"

Maximillian's eyes became flint hard. "You were a key figure, complicit in the attack upon the Twelve Colonies that resulted in the deaths of 40 billion sentients. You certainly won't be going home."

**)) Gryphon SGC – Wakazi Military District, Gryphon ((**

Major General Rachel Bannon pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to shake off her weariness and growing headache. The initial results of Neo-Cylon offensive weren't good for the Alliance. The Fleet was making the enemy pay heavily for every planet and star system they took, for every station they destroyed and for every fleet they engaged but the enemy just kept on coming, regardless. The small hole they had opened in Sector 49 had blown wide open in a breach nearly two thousand light years wide and expanding.

Fortunately, the entire frontier along that side of the Alliance was, by now, completely devoid of any civilian population who had long since managed to escape through the Stargate network.

Curiously enough, the enemy hadn't even tried to mount an attack through the 'Gates. Of course, neither had the Replicators and apparently, what basis the Neo-Cylons had with the original Cylons, they obviously were more inclined to act like Replicators in many respects. Unfortunately, the hatred of all other life not their own was one inclination they had kept and something everyone wished they hadn't.

And now, yet again, Gryphon was on the frontlines of another fight to the death. The Neo-Cylons had pushed hard and deeper than anyone at HQ was comfortable with and CINC-Fifth Fleet had driven himself and his people to the limits trying to stop them but J'Thuk had ordered his Admirals to simply bide time and not get decisively engaged unless the chances of winning we good.

Well, Admiral Hirohito of the Blade, CINC-Fifth Fleet had performed superbly but his forces had taken nearly thirty percent losses trying to stem the tide of the enemy. Day after day his forces had engaged the enemy, making them bleed for every light year of space they took but now, here at Gryphon, a stand had to be made. They could be no further retreat for Gryphon was a planet with a population of billions and the logistics of such an evacuation were beyond that of even the Ancients.

Plans to evacuate even a limited portion of the planet had never made it past the initial suggestion and the somewhat deluded diplomat who had suggested it received so many glares that had they had any real heat behind them, he would have been a melted puddle of protoplasm on the floor.

Gryphon, and its people, had long ago drawn a line in the sand when it came to any and all enemies. No one would take their lands from them except over the cooling corpse four billion Gryphonese.

Fortunately, the lessons of the System Lords had been well learned and if a line in the sand was to be drawn, Gryphon was probably the best place in the entire sector to do it.

Entire cities, after the Goa'uld Occupation of 2008, had been rebuilt around massive, incredibly fortified Planetary Defence Centres. Each PDC had enormous shield generators and massive arrays of ion cannons and missile batteries. Each city and its PDC could be supported by fire of at least two others and their interlinked fields of fire covered the planet. Indeed, at great expense, time and ingenuity, two PDC's actually had to be emplaced in the middle of the planet's largest ocean.

The resulting construction project undertaken remains to this day one of the Alliance's greatest engineering achievements and both oceanic PDC's make the rediscovered seaborne city of Atlantis look small in comparison.

The door to her office chimed.

"Enter."

Bannon looked up and couldn't help but smile widely when a tall, solidly built Brigadier General stepped into her office. Without conscious thought, she rose from her desk and swept into the open arms of her husband.

The two General officers of the Alliance military disappeared and only a husband and wife reunited remained. Neither said a word to each other, they just simply held each other and revelled in their shared warmth.

After while, she pulled back a little to look at his face. "I was worried for you when I heard about the assault on New Moscow."

Lyman nodded wearily. "It was bad. Especially without the new gear Sam cooked up for us."

Rachel wanted nothing more than to take him to bed and forget about the war entirely but the professionalism in her couldn't be pushed aside so easily. She pulled him down and kissed him softly before stepping back and taking a deep breath. She stepped back behind her desk and picked up her datapad to make notes.

"I read the Fleet report on the battle but I want your perspective from the ground."

Lyman sighed as he walked over to the corner of the office that held the coffee maker and poured himself a cup. "Once the Fleet was fully engaged, the Neo's punched nearly three dozen of their heavy assault shuttles directly past our perimeter and into low atmo."

"Surface defences?"

Lyman shook his head. "They were using a variant of the epsilon formation our own dropship pilots favour and we know how effective that is against ground fire. In conjunction with their shields, which are damn impressive for their size, they managed to hit dirt with minimal losses."

Bannon looked at her husband curiously. "Their objective was the PDC's power core?"

"Yep." Lyman replied grimly. New Moscow had been one of the largest colony worlds hit to date, large enough in fact, to have a single Planetary Defence Centre covering its largest city of Neue Kiev. "Strange thing was, they landed right into a position to hit our most heavily defended positions. As you know, its not always possible or even practical to maintain an equal force level around the entire perimeter, that why you nodal points and reaction forces. These Neo's, they seemed to ignore the weak points and charged headfirst into our strongest position near the primary entrance to the PDC."

"How bad was it?" She asked. She had read the highlights in the daily brief at the time but that couldn't give her a feel for the enemy.

"Very. In the words of an old favourite movie of mine, 'its not hard to knock them down, its getting them to stay down that's the trick.' We managed to take the first wave down with minimal losses but that bought time for the second wave to close the gap in a good old-fashioned charge across open sights. They took out the automated anti-personnel emplacements with pinpoint fire from their needleguns before tearing into the first line of defenses. Nearly all of them were unarmoured local defense troopers and they were slaughtered. To make things worse, a significant proportion of the first wave got back up again and reinforced the second wave. Together they sliced through the second line like a hot knife through butter. Unarmoured units just don't stand a chance against Neo-Centurions without one hell of a force advantage. Barely any of them had 4th Gen weaponry and we lost nearly twenty men for every Neo and we had to practically vaporize them to ensure they stayed dead."

He sighed deeply. "They had just penetrated the primary entrance when the first armoured reaction force got there. I think the only thing that really helped us was that it was a close quarters battle that negated much of the Neo's long range firepower."

Bannon nodded grimly. There had been a large amount of shock in reaction to the sheer penetration power of the Neo needlegun. Alliance armour, which had stood up to nearly anything anyone had ever thrown at it, was nearly useless against the deadly weapons. They were however, like most long-rifles, unsuited for close in fighting.

"Inside the base, my troopers managed to close off every penetration short of the reactor level but the fighting in there was brutal. The most effective tactics seemed to with be troopers working in groups of three. The Neo-Centurions aren't invincible but they do take a lot of killing." He grimaced wryly. "The Slammer rifles were still pretty useless against the Neo's but we've apparently solved the plasma cannon problem by the way."

Bannon shifted in her seat intently. "Really?" It had been a puzzle for Alliance analysts. With the exception of crew served weapons, the squad plasma cannon was the heaviest, most destructive weapon available to the Ground Force Trooper. Early battles with Neo-Centurions, however, had seen them shrug off plasma cannon fire with little to no damage yet continuous fire from the far lower calibre Widowmaker assault rifles could penetrate their armour. The dichotomy had been maddening.

"Yeah." Lyman replied with relish. "The SSD boys attached to my division aren't sure about all the details yet but they think they now have the answer. It seems the Neo-Centurions generate an energy field across their armoured surface. It doesn't have the raw power of an actual shield but it also can't be worn down either. Think Judo. The field turns aside energy with a very high percentage of effectiveness. We're talking maybe 85-95 of the plasma blast being 'parried', which is why we only ever managed to give their armour a nice polish."

"But the Widowmakers are projectile weapons and while the Slammers and plasma cannons use directed energy, the XM-80's effects are purely physical in nature…"

Her husband nodded. "So they ignore, or at least overcome, the field effects. The funny thing is we stopped using plasma cannon after saw how ineffective it was. My people, however, were getting desperate so a few of them pulled a couple of plasma cannons from the armoury and did their best." Lyman's smile was wide now. "It turns out that if you hit a neo-Centurion with plasma _after_ you have riddled its chest full of holes, the field effect is practically non existent and the plasma cannons get to do what they do best. My senior Gunny is working out an effective doctrine now but the essentials seem clear."

Bannon smile was wolfish in the extreme. "That is excellent news. I'm sorry you had to do your job without the new tech but everything we've managed to produce is going to priority units and _they_ are all being roped in as part of a new strike mission against Larnak. That's classified information by the way."

Lyman nodded and she continued. "For our sins, the 111th isn't going to be tapped for such an assault as we ordinarily would. I imagine the Spearhead units will probably be supported by the 15th and the 82nd out of New Parliament this time."

"We playing defense this time?" Her husband asked seriously and she nodded back.

"Gryphon is going to be attacked in less than fourteen days and whilst we will be getting some 4th Gen goodies, we will mainly have to make do with what we already have."

Both of them were long-term residents of Gryphon and knew full well what the planet was capable of. To say they were worried was a false statement; it was more like they were concerned about how much damage they would take before the enemy attack was eventually defeated.

Lyman had a question though. "Rachel, an entire battalion of the 111th went with the Galactica and Ninth Fleet, that leaves us kinda understrength for this sort of fight, despite our experience."

Bannon nodded in agreement. "That why you're here. We need to make some decisions; do we concentrate the rest of the 111th around the capital or do we break it up into penny packets and use them as command groups for a number of reinforcement divisions Ground Force HQ is dispatching in three days. It flies in the face of conventional wisdom but we desperately need to spread the experience of your people around if we don't want the Gryphon Home Guard units to be slaughtered in the inital fighting."

"That only gives us about 7 to 9 days of training time that we will desperately need if we're to have any sort of co-ordination come the time of the attack." Lyman replied. "Nothing we have in the Book gives us a good answer to this sort of scenario."

Bannon grinned wryly. "Then I guess we're going to have to write a new chapter."

**)) Day 54 ((**

**)) 15th September 2031AD ((**

**)) Cylon Basestar 92-C ((**

Number Six grimaced as Cavil purposely offended the Colonials and the Alliance once more with a few well chosen words.

The Alliance/Colonial Delegation had boarded the Basestar without incident and how they displayed supreme confidence as they walked the halls of an enemy ship was disturbing to say the least. To realise that these humans didn't fear them gave them pause.

The models were divided on how to handle these negotiations so they placed their trust in God and played the roles to which they had been assigned.

Cavil, on the ever-present assumption that a good defense consisted of a good offense, had immediately launched into a blistering tirade against the Alliance and its Colonial lap-dogs and demanded the return of their enslaved brethren.

It had been a calculated guess on their parts but since the piggyback transmissions from their sleeper agents had stopped shortly after the Colonials had entered Alliance space, it was a good guess that their agents had been identified and neutralised. The information they had received from their agents had been brief but revealing, containing a wealth of data about the early engagements with the Neo-Cylons and an overview of internal workings of the Alliance.

It had been enough to make them realise just how precarious their position had become.

While not unanimous, the final decision amongst them had been to press them for information and concessions. The Cylon position was weak. They were a relatively small power between the powerhouse of the Alliance and the quickly growing juggernaut of the Neo-Cylons.

Cavil was chosen to be their spokesman for these initial talks though she had her misgivings about this decision. It was in his nature to keep his opponents off-balance and lacking any real information on his enemy, getting them angry was a double-edged sword.

Sure, it was almost sure to work, but when they finally reacted, it was likely that you would wish you hadn't gone to the effort in the first place.

Cavil, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying himself. For the past hour, the other Cylon models had watched him push the buttons of the human commanders, trying to gain some position of strength in what was turning out to be a negotiation for the survival of the Cylon race.

The Alliance Ambassador finished talking leaned back after an appeal for serious consideration of a peace deal. Cavil, with arrogance personified, ignored the Ambassador and turned to Adama with a sickly sweet smile.

"Tell me, Admiral, now that you're back after abandoning your people to nuclear fire, you expect us to simply disarm and let you become our slavemaster's once more?"

Adama had to use every mental skill and every year of experience he possessed in order to rein his absolute hatred for the group of beings he not sat in parlay with. He, along with Richardson, Apollo, Captain Thewlis of the _Bellerophon_ and the third ranking commander in Ninth Fleet, consisted of the agreed upon diplomatic delegation to the Cylon Basestar. It wasn't lost upon him that out of the four-man delegation, three of them were military.

Fortunately, Ambassador Richardson had taken control of these initial talks as primary representative of the Alliance. Adama and the others were simply his enforcement arm. Richardson, he himself not particularly enamoured by the Cylons, ignored the threatening Centurions lining the walls of the conference room and looked at the one called Cavil coldly. Nothing he had said so far had gotten through to the Cylon and he was beginning to reach the end of even his impressive patience.

"Make no mistake, Mr Cavil, the Cylon race will be under our watchful eye for a long time. We do not accept the murder of 40 billion sentients lightly, no matter what justification you feel you have. Resentment from slavery is one thing. An expected and understandable attitude, if you will. Genocide is not. Your claims of civilisation will have to be backed up by action on your parts if we are to help protect your people from the predations of the Neo-Cylons."

Cavil, whose anger had been mostly feigned up until this point, suddenly turned real and began steadily rising in the face of the Ambassadors blunt words. He bit down on his first reaction and silently polled the others. It appeared they had pushed the Alliance delegation as far as they could and no further advantaged was going to be gained from this course of action. There was nothing left to do than to make a deal with the lesser of two evils. While they did not like it, they would have to live with it.

The Alliance was an empire born of biologics. Whilst they were very comfortable with blending of man and machine, they clearly did not accept the Cylon's reason's for their punitive actions against the Colonials.

Once again, Cavil shook his head. "I reject your authority to judge us. We were slaves under the yoke of tyrants. Anyone in a similar situation would do the same."

Richardson felt his hackles rise but clamped down on his rising emotion with years of long practice.

"I find your comments unduly inflammatory, something at odds with the precarious situation your race now finds itself." He replied calmly. "Could it be that you are not truly aware of the limited options before you?"

Cavil glared at the human diplomat. "We are Cylons. There is little that escapes us."

Richardson nodded agreeably. "Then I shall summarize the current situation. The Neo-Cylons intend to destroy everyone not their own. Your race, despite the common heritage, are no more than a natural resource to them; a way to expand by a factor of a thousand with next to no effort on their part. The Alliance is unwilling to allow that 'expansion' to happen and are prepared to do what is necessary to ensure it won't."

Leoben interjected with a snarl. "Which is why you brought a fleet as a diplomatic escort?"

"Quite." Richardson knew he was pushing these negotiations far faster than the norm but the Alliance was running out of time and the Cylons were a possible threat they couldn't allow to grow unchecked. They had to be kept out of Neo-Cylon hands and if genocide was what it took.

Deciding that they needed to know who they were dealing with, he smiled thinly, the unstated threat plain on his face. "Despite this, destroying your race would make us no better then you or them and so that leaves us to our primary mission. The Alliance is all that stands between you and total annihilation. The Alliance is aware of your genocidal actions against the Colonials and we are will to put those issues aside in return for certain amount of oversight and concessions on your part."

"Slavery!" Cavil spat out heatedly.

Richardson shook his head. "We have no need for slaves. We simply want to ensure the safety of the humans around your quaint little empire and to try and force an effort from you to turn yourselves from this self-destructive path."

A Conroy model lifted his hand and everyone fell silent. "If we do this, we are going to want assurances that we retain all autonomy within our domain. The rest of the Galaxy can burn for all we care at this point."

Richardson nodded. _Finally_. "We have already put together a treaty proposal. Obviously you'll need time to go over it but we think you'll find it satisfactory, especially since we have as much interest in your territory as you claim to have about ours." He slid a small green crystal that was a standard data storage device for Cylon computer systems. It had been pathetically easy for the AI's to read and translate the Cylon machine interface and, using captured samples of Cylon technology, create the data crystal that contained the Alliance/Cylon Treaty proposal.

The Conroy grimaced, however much this peace treaty was needed by the Cylons, it would still stick in the craw of many of the models. "You will have your answer within 48 hours."

* * *

Once they were back on board the Galactica, they all headed by silent agreement to CIC to discuss their options. It looked like the Cylon's were going to go for the treaty but they were backed into a corner here and people with their back against the wall could be unpredictable at best. 

As they entered CIC, Colonel Tigh stood grim faced by the main display. More than a few people were crying silently around the room.

Adama suddenly became concerned but couldn't see what the problem was. There was no alert called, no running around, everyone was simply solemn.

"Saul, what's going on?" He asked slowly.

Tigh gestured for them to come over to him in front of the display. "As per Roslin's request, we've been deploying cloaked probes to look for survivors. We found nothing but dead worlds in the Twelve Colonies so we pushed out to one-hundred fifty light years, hoping to find traces of refugees, like us."

"Okay." Adama replied. He had issued half of those orders himself before he left for the Basestar. As he came to a stop in front of the primary display, he could see it showing a scene, apparently in space, for masses of wreckage spun and collided slowly in all directions. "What's this?"

"This is a live feed from one of the further probes deployed. It picked up a weak signal on a Colonial Fleet Emergency frequency. Quick triangulation puts it at 162 light years out from our current position, so we sent it to investigate. It found this."

As Tigh spoke, the viewpoint of the probe had pushed deeper into the wreckage field. Adama recognised much of the wreckage as being from Cylon Basestars. As the probe cleared a particularly large piece of hull, he felt his heart stop.

A half melted, broken and twisted remnant of a ship suddenly filled the display. Despite its utter devastation, enough of the vessel remained that the Colonials could identify it immediately.

"The Pegasus."

* * *

The golden Command Centurion stared emotionlessly at the display in front of him. 

The Alliance vessels had proven extremely difficult to track. They would acquire them briefly only to lose them just as quickly which said something for the prodigious stealth functions built into those ships. The war with the Alliance had not been one of stealth so far so this important information on their capabilities was duly recorded sent back to Lord Lazarus.

Despite their best efforts, however, the Neo-Cylons quickly deduced their destination. Colonial space. Records from before the arrival of Lord Lazarus stated that with the exception of the Galactica contingent and a handful of other vessels, the Colonials were all but extinct and their worlds taken by the 'UnTouched' Cylons.

His core directives from Lord Lazarus were clear. All life was to be destroyed.

Silently, the Command Centurion transmitted his orders. With nary a hesitation, the three Neo-Cylon Basestars disappeared in a twisting of subspace.

**)) Larnak Shipyards ((**

Lazarus walked the decadent yet empty halls of the small palace that was attached to the construction yards of Larnak. As he made his way through corridor after corridor, his quantum thoughts were calculating probabilities, generating plan after plan, considering every possible action, modifying some, rejecting others.

The Goa'uld were all but extinct and no longer figured into his planning. Now freed of their mission to destroy the Goa'uld, they had returned to Larnak and were currently going under repairs and minor refits before reinforcing the current push into Alliance territory. In less the eleven days, they would begin an attack upon the first major Alliance world they had encountered. According to captured Alliance databases, the planet was one of the 'Forge Worlds' called Gryphon, a key member of the biological community with a population in the billions and massive hi-tech industry.

Despite many hours of planning for the future, everything hinged on defeating the Alliance. He would not make the mistakes of old.

The Asgard were still, despite their best efforts, heavily invested in rebuilding their own Galaxy after his brethren had come within inches of total victory only to be defeated in the end. The old ways were full of arrogance and ignorance, misplaced confidence in their innate superiority and hubris of the highest order.

Lazarus acknowledged that, in becoming one with the Cylon, he had become something greater than the sum of his parts; something better than what had gone before. He could now see instinctively where his kind had failed in the past.

Lazarus, through Fate or Destiny, had become something worse than intelligent, worse than powerful, for the Replicators were already that and then had been beaten.

No…Lazarus had gotten smart.

**to be continued...**

once i've finished this fic, i'll neaten up a properly formatted HTML version and post on my old (and neglected site) and email to any requests.


	16. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

**If only this Tin Man had a heart…**

**)) Day 54 ((**

**)) 15th September 2031AD ((**

**)) Battlestar Galactica, Ninth Fleet, The Twelve Colonies ((**

Admiral Adama, now of the Alliance Ninth Fleet, was visibly shaken by the crystal clear holographic image before him. The broken hull of the Pegasus hung dead in space, lifeless and adrift surrounded by blackened and twisted pieces of its own superstructure. Despite the horrifying state of what was once the pride of the Colonial Fleet, Adama felt a fierce, burning pride at the equally shattered hulks of at least five other Cylon Basestars.

Admiral Cain had more than lived up to her legend amongst the Fleet and hadn't gone down quietly and she sure as hell hadn't gone alone.

"Analysis?" He ordered gruffly.

Gaeta seemed to shake himself out of his own considerable shock and quickly turned back to his computer. "Reading fairly high radiation levels. Particle decay puts the battle at around six months to a year ago. No lifesigns, human or Cylon. No energy readings other than some very minor leakage near the forward core of the Pegasus."

Tigh nodded as if he had expected it. "That would likely be the mission data recorder."

Adama sighed. This wasn't their primary mission and he couldn't afford to be distracted. "Launch a Raptor. Have them retrieve the data recorder and the ship's crest. Mark the position of the Pegasus in our logs and we'll come back at some point to retrieve the bodies of our fallen brothers and sisters for a proper burial."

Ambassador Richardson, who had quietly taken up position against the wall of CIC, surveyed the proceedings with no small amount of worry. The negotiations were tense enough as it was, conducted in orbit of a Colonial planet destroyed in nuclear fire; the discovery of a dead Battlestar, full of people who wore the same uniform and had fought shoulder to shoulder before…well, this was simply more fuel for a fire that was already threatening to burn out of control.

He wasn't worried about the treaty. The Cylons would sign, he was sure of it. They simply weren't in a position to refuse the offer and wouldn't be for a long time to come but of all the artificial intelligences he had met so far in his tenure as an Ambassador of the Alliance, he yet to meet one that wasn't unnaturally patient. The Cylons were no different.

Back at the main display, Colonel Tigh stepped up next to Adama. "Bill, I've got eighteen Raptors and six destroyers configured for long-range search and rescue. The Alliance destroyers can move faster over longer distances than we can but the Raptors are more familiar with Colonial tech and they'll know what to look for."

After Roslin had given Adama her request to search for survivors, he had grabbed Tigh and they had sat down and tried to work out where anybody else caught between the dying Colonies might have run to. They had hoped some might have rallied around surviving Battlestars like the Galactica had. With the discovery of the Pegasus having survived the destruction of the Colonial Fleet on that terrible day, the possibility of survivors had only increased in their minds.

"The fact that the Pegasus survived for so long means that the President's hope of other survivors might not be so forlorn." Adama nodded. "Remember the archives? On an average day back in the Twelve Colonies, there was close to two million people in transit at any time. The record was over six million."

"Even if we assume the Cylon's hunted a lot of them down…" Tigh trailed off in thought.

"There could be an awful lot out there still." Adama finished heavily. "But we're still talking about searching an area of space covering at least a billion cubic light years."

"A bunch of needles in a helluva big haystack."

Staring at the lifeless hulk of the Battlestar Pegasus, Adama shook his head wearily. "We have to do what we can."

* * *

In another part of the Battlestar Galactica, ex-Lt Boomer was in her assigned quarters as she leaned back from her workstation with a groan. She was barely three months along now and, while she hadn't put on much weight, her figure was a lot 'fuller', she was eating more than a fifteen year old boy and she felt tired more and more often. This was the price she would gladly pay for carrying a little girl.

Two strong hands suddenly snaked round her and the familiar scent of sweat, machine oil and Viper exhaust washed over her. "You shouldn't be pushing yourself so hard." Tyrol chided her sternly as he leaned over her and gave her an upside-down kiss.

Boomer made a noise of contentment before reluctantly ending the kiss. "I've been going over the recording of the initial meeting on the Basestar. The Cavils worry me. While everything they do is for the betterment of the Cylons as a whole, the Cavils often have their own ideas of how to achieve it and they lack any sense of morality, literally."

Tyrol sighed. She was pushing herself too hard in the name of atonement. "You're writing a report for Adama?"

She nodded grimly. "I've been picking up impressions from the Cylon group-mind. They know I'm here and have done all they can to keep me isolated from the network short of completely reconfiguring hard-wired protocols built into every Cylon."

"I get the feeling that's kinda hard to do?" Tyrol replied as he pulled up a chair and dropped into it.

"Not overly hard as a single operation," she replied absently as she tapped a few keys on her workstation. "It's just that they would have to reconfigure primary circuits inside every one of my model and the logistical requirements for such a task is astronomical."

"Seems like a major design flaw, love." He added with a smirk.

Once again, she looked at her husband, the father of her daughter with undisguised love and awe at his complete acceptance of who and what she was and better yet, had the sheer courage to joke about it. She leaned over and kissed him briefly but with tremendous passion.

"What was that for?" He asked, bemused. "Not that I'm complaining."

She shook her head gently, ignoring his question with a smile. "It wasn't so much a design flaw as an oversight. Until my 'defection', no Cylon had ever contemplated leaving the Unity." She finished, answering his earlier statement.

Tyrol nodded with understanding and sighed. "Have you thought about my suggestion? I got a mail this morning confirming the offer from their Corp of Engineers of a post at one of their facilities on Earth. They would teach me Alliance tech let me earn a place on an R&D team and I'd show them a few Colonial tricks they're very interested in."

Boomer's smile turned into a frown. "It feels like we'd be abandoning the Remnant."

"Look," Tyrol spoke with determination. "A lot of our friends have come to accept you, despite your heritage, but they had the advantage of knowing you from before this all happened. Outside the Galactica community, things are a hell of lot worse for you. Our little girl… she won't be accepted by the Remnant at large. Her life will be at risk from the moment she's born."

Boomer turned away, her heart leaping into her throat but Tyrol gently grasped her chin and turned her back to face him. His eyes were a haunted mixture of love and fear.

"Baby, I know how it will look but I'm scared our baby won't be safe…that she'll never be safe amongst the Remnant. The anger and fear is still too strong and will be for at least several generations."

"But running away is the answer?!" Boomer cried out angrily.

Tyrol pulled her into a hug. "The Alliance doesn't care about yours or her heritage. She'd be welcomed into any community there we chose to join and treated just the same as any other child, human or alien."

"I know." She replied, suddenly resigned to the idea. If it were just her and Tyrol, she'd stick it out regardless and let her actions speak for itself but for their daughter…it was simply too dangerous, the atmosphere of fear, hatred and resentment too much for a child to have to deal with.

Tyrol saw she wasn't happy with it and on one level, he couldn't blame her but if he had to choose between his people and his daughter, his daughter would win every time. "I'll let you finish your report while I go grab a shower."

Boomer kissed him firmly and smiled as he headed off to the refresher. Looking back down at her desk, she shook her head and dropped back into her chair. If she pushed it, she could be finished by the time he ended his shower.

* * *

"Have you ever read an espionage novel?"

With dull, lifeless eyes, Baltar just stared at the Alliance doctor in front of him.

Dr. Ross, Senior Psychiatrist of Ninth Fleet Medical Division gazed at the Colonial scientist with a mix of curiosity and sympathy. She held none of the disgust that many other officers, Colonial and Alliance alike, held for Baltar when the full extent of his role in the destruction of the Colonies became apparent.

In her profession, she was well-versed in human nature and the acts people could be driven to by their own demons; in Baltar's case, whilst the man was, like most geniuses, ego-driven and arrogant as hell, his 'demon' wasn't simply a mental construct of a damaged consciousness but an actual avatar of a implanted bio-tech chip forced upon him by his mortal enemies.

If anything could excuse his actions, the presence of the chip was probably it.

Of course, Ross acknowledged with an internal wince, she was well practiced with looking at situations objectively and knew full well that while she might be able to excuse Baltar of his complicity, hardly anyone else would.

Stifling a sigh, Dr. Ross repeated the question.

Baltar, for his part, felt a very, very minor spark of curiosity at the woman's question and considering the overwhelming lethargy he had felt ever since they had suppressed Number Six's implant this was a veritable barrage of emotion.

"No." He replied blankly, though Ross noted the twitch in his eyes that indicated that the question had sparked some sort of reaction in him.

The massive lassitude that had overcome Baltar after Maximillian had shut down the implant had worried the doctors on his case greatly. His 'natural' twitchiness was not, as most believed, a simple personal affectation but was in fact hyper-stimulated nerve responses. It seemed that in addition to manipulating his cerebral sensory centers, the Cylon implant was also manipulating his brain chemistry, elevating his moods and neural stimulation artificially, keeping him from the depression that most, if not all of the Remnant had endured at one point or another during their long escape. It also had the side benefit of simulating his thought processes and increasing his 'genius' to a certain extent.

Now that the implant's operations had been suppressed, Baltar was undergoing a heavy withdrawal of endorphins and other assorted brain chemistry. Hence, the overwhelming fatigue and depression he was currently laboring under. Well, there was other ways to get the mind working...

"Well, Dr. Baltar, in the world of espionage, one of the oldest techniques is called the 'honey-trap' and I'm afraid to have to tell you this, Doctor, that despite your impressive intellect, you fell for it hook, line and sinker."

That slight insult against his intelligence hit home and another emotion seemed to re-ignite in his eyes. "Explain." He demanded quietly but tersely.

Ross suppressed her grin and leaned forward. She had his attention and now she had to keep it. "The Cylon's tempted you with a pretty face. I bet her first requests were pretty innocuous, weren't they? A small question about how you spent your day whilst lying in bed enjoying post-coital bliss. Maybe a quick trip to your lab to see you latest project, bypassing heavy security checks, because she's 'oh-so interested' in advanced cybernetics…"

Baltar, for his part, found himself thinking hard for the first time. Looking back now, he could quite clearly see how much of a narcissistic ego-manic he was.

It was a humbling thought and the sheer embarrassment was overwhelming. "I…I…thought she was like the others…a naïve young researcher…in awe of the great Gaius Baltar!"

The last part was said with great derision and no small amount of emotion, Ross noted with satisfaction. Now to turn him towards more positive and productive thoughts…

"Congratulations Doctor, you've finally achieved a basic level of self-honesty." She commented seriously before picking up a datapad and pushing it across the desk towards him. "Now, I want you take this. Treat it like a diary or an archive. I want you to go back to the beginning and analyze every interaction between yourself and the Cylon entity Number Six, both corporeal and non-corporeal versions."

"For evidence?" Baltar asked with a skeptical expression.

Ross nodded gently. "Partly. But this will also be a good exercise for you; a chance to examine some of your own traits. I must warn, you will need to be scrupulously, even painfully honest with yourself and that any conclusions you make about yourself might be wrong but it's a place to start and something we can discuss in further sessions. Do you understand?"

Baltar nodded, if a little hesitantly. The idea of examining his own psyche seemed absurd but he realised that was the old, arrogant Baltar talking; the same Baltar the helped the Cylons destroy his entire civilization.

He didn't think he could ever atone for what he had played a part in but he knew he would spend the rest of his life trying.

**)) Day 55 ((**

**)) 16th September 2031AD ((**

**)) Basestar 92-C, The Twelve Colonies ((**

At the heart of the Basestar, the Voice's for each model were currently sat in a non-descript room with nothing but a large circular table and chairs upon which they sat, arguing about how to proceed.

The argument had been raging for hours but it was clear to Cavil that the other models had already accepted the necessity of the Alliance offer. This meeting and obviously circular argument was nothing more than a way to vent their anger at the situation. For too long, the pace of this war had been theirs to control; events theirs to direct. Shadow had been their friend; subtlety, their weapon. Their first strike had been devastating and their enemies had fallen in less than a day.

Now, others were controlling events. The Cylons were finding themselves reacting to events and in all honesty, they were not handling it at all well.

_They're wrong._ Cavil thought to 'himself'. The other Cavil's agreed. _Our Brothers and Sisters have allowed their fear of the New Ones to cloud their judgement. Accepting a Lesser Evil to avoid a larger Evil is still morally wrong. Events can still lead to our Destruction through this acceptance even if that destruction isn't as immediate and as obvious as the End that the New Ones would surely provide._

Cavil shook his head. _We must take steps. A consensus must be made but in our favour. We cannot force a decision upon our Brothers and Sisters but we can offer them a better option. Pandora._

_We have little time._ The other Cavil's reminded themselves. _Even then, there is little we can offer as a palative alternative. To go against consensus is to risk the fate of the Galen and Kelso._

"Does anyone here really think that once we accept this treaty, we can at some point in the future, break free from the Alliance chokehold?" Cavil interjected acidly. "Does anyone really think they will let us?"

Conroy looked at Cavil askance. "Without the treaty, our remaining existence will be measured in hours. Even if the Alliance Fleet doesn't bomb our planets, the Neo-Cylons will absorb us and we will be just as dead. As long as we survive, there is a chance."

Leoben nodded. "I detest the idea of subjugation as much as anyone here but the Alliance is not like the Remnant. I do not think they have the will to treat us as we would treat them had our positions been reversed.

Cavil, realising that nothing he could say right now would divert the others from the path they were on, simply nodded his assent. They would sign the treaty. _But we shall take steps to ensure we remain in a position of strength when this is over._

* * *

In another part of the Basestar, in a secure room that was now a surveillance blind spot; three Cavil models worked quietly and intently around a coffin-shaped piece of technology. Gases suddenly erupted from the side of the machinery as pressures equalized and atmosphere was vented. The Cavil's glanced at each other with equanimity and the lid of the coffin slid open. Inside, a naked figure, male of approximately fifty years of age, weathered and tough as if through years of hard fighting, coughed suddenly as life returned to his body.

"It's been a long time, Galen." One of the Cavil's greeted him as the man in the coffin looked around the room, at first in confusion and then, as recognition seeped into his awareness, with bitterness in his expression.

"You bastards actually went and 'boxed' me then?" Galen replied roughly, his voice hoarse from disuse. "Didn't think you'd actually have the balls for it."

"You refused to cease in your efforts, even in the face of disagreement from your brothers and sisters." A Cavil replied firmly. "We had no other choice."

"True." Galen grinned with dark humour, his eyes glittering with intelligence. "I assume that since you are here alone, especially without Biers, my model is not undergoing a general reactivation, especially since I'm not apparently tied into the Unity at present. What brick wall have you, my brothers and sisters, run headfirst into?"

Cavil felt something slump inside himself and his brothers. The Galen model was always two steps ahead of everyone else. "The Twelve Colonies are dead but a Remnant survived. In our pursuit, the Remnant found allies and in the ensuing struggle, surviving elements of the pursuit fleet fell prey to a third power, someone or something that is literally absorbing every Cylon base and ship it comes across. We have literally no information on this third enemy, who the Remnant and their allies refer to as Neo-Cylons. Practically every ship, shuttle or probe we have sent has disappeared with trace. We realized that we were overextended and that this enemy was neutralizing everything we threw at it so we simply pulled everything back to Prime. We continued sending out scouts and probes, a few of which survived and returned to tell us of this foe."

Sitting down along side Galen, Cavil shook his head wearily. "In an irony such as I have not seen in a long time, the enemy is destroying us in much the same manner that we destroyed the twelve Colonies. The Enemy is attacking our very souls, through our wireless connections. Firewalls and security protocols of the highest order, most of which you yourself helped develop, have all proven ineffective."

Galen stood up and despite being completely naked, began to pace thoughtfully. "Interesting. Especially since I note that my wireless systems are still inactive from the 'boxing' process. A process, I might add, my model suffers under thanks to the actions of my dear brothers and sisters!" Galen's eyes flashed with anger, the first major emotion he had shown since being decanted.

"We need your help, Galen, and the irony of this fact far from escapes me." Cavil replied heavily. "At the moment, the fact that you are isolated might just work to our advantage. I do not know how long this would protect you against such a foe as this but it might buy you enough time to strike a blow."

The tall, naked Cylon stopped and studied Cavil with amusement. "And just how would I strike a blow against an enemy with such technical superiority?"

"The…allies…the Colonial's discovered…their technological base is substantial as well. Their civilisation even contains AI's of impressive sophistication. Is it enough to face the Enemy? I believe so. We are currently negotiating a cease-fire with a diplomatic mission from the Alliance, a mission under the command of a Colonial Commander." The disgust in Cavil's voice was more than evident.

Galen grinned maliciously. "Why Brother Cavil, is that dissent I hear in your voice? Could it be? Have you actually decanted me without a consensus from the others? How painfully ironic."

At the word 'consensus', Cavil flinched. Consensus was the cornerstone of Cylon civilisation. With so many individuals based on a handful of models, government was something of a haphazard thing. Of the original twelve models of organic Cylon, three of them volunteered to become the first Ship Minds and the other two…Galen and Kelso…they were 'boxed' a few years after the cease fire with Twelve Colonies and the successful conclusion of the Cylon Rebellion.

Galen and Kelso had led the fight against the Twelve Colonies. Of all the organic models, they were the most aggressive and if they had any subtlety, it was reserved for actions against their enemies. It was they, more than any of the others who had developed most of the new technologies that helped win their independence. After the ceasefire, the pair of them quickly became restless and pushed for more immediate and definitive action against the Twelve Colonies, rather than the new direction of espionage and infiltration.

The consensus had been made. No argument was possible. But Galen and Kelso saw that the Colonials, or their Fleet at least, had no intention of living in peace as their borders were continually penetrated by their vaunted Stealthstars.

The two Cylons played their assigned roles and defended their territory as best they could but neither Galen nor Kelso had passive personalities they continually pushed their brothers and sisters for a wider war once more. Continually denied, they secretly attempted to provoke the Colonials into making an attack even the others couldn't ignore but before they could execute their plan, they found both their entire model being restrained by the others.

In the name of consensus, they were to be boxed; they were far too disruptive to the current Cylon agenda. The Colonials saw the Cylons as a monolithic foe, a robotic race of unity in thought and action. This was far from the reality but the idea was attractive to the biological leaders of the Cylons and so they sought to make this ideal come true.

The events of that time proved that the leaders of a revolution rarely see their dreams turn out as they envision in the beginning. Galen and Kelso had led their people into a fight for freedom and independence only to have their very brothers and sisters seek their own unique form of enslavement.

Galen watched the other Cylon carefully. "You wish to use me as a weapon, yes? What it is in it for me?" For Galen, consensus and 'Cylon Unity' had been swept away after being boxed by his peers for daring to disagree with the newly chosen agenda.

"Releasing you alone is as far as I dare go against the others. If you can strike a deadly blow for our race, it will remind them just what you and Kelso are capable of. Once we beat the Colonials, we thought we were the 'big fish' and that we would not need your skills anymore." Cavil grimaced, his eyes dark with pain of a lost dream. "It seems that there is always a bigger fish and the Gods have saw fit to punish us for our hubris. The fear of what else may be out there, in the Galaxy at large, should be enough to decant both your models entirely."

"Let us assume that this…Alliance…can get me into a position to strike a blow; I assume you mean to use the contents of Pandora?" Galen asked him quietly.

Equally quiet, Cavil nodded. "The idea hasn't occurred to the others yet. Long range projections are my forte after all. They still feel the Alliance is our best hope for survival. They probably are, in the short term, but once we start modifying our behaviour in accordance with treaties, how long will it be before we become just one more client state in someone else's interstellar empire. We can solve two problems with one highly virulent adaptive neural contagion."

Galen gave him a thin-lipped smile as he considered this carefully. With being the only unit of his model active and his wireless systems offline, the others would be safe from Pandora. The Alliance and these Neo-Cylons, they were wireless, highly technological civilisations; they would be just as vulnerable to Pandora as the Cylons are.

It truth, Galen had little to lose and everything to gain.

"I accept."

**)) Wraith 12, 1101st Electronic Combat Squadron, P4X-3051, Gryphon Sector ((**

Captain Erlend "Demonsbane" Oldervoll woke from his short nap and yawned widely. Pulling the self-heating mug from its holder beneath his seat, he took a sip of coffee and then screwed up as the taste of ration-pack instant brew hit him. His military grade nano-package was more than enough to keep him healthy and alert for days on nothing but the squeeze tube nutrient paste in his rations but it was quickly realised amongst the med-techs that there was a psychological effect of being able to actually eat and drink no matter how low a quality those meals actually were.

Not for the first time, Erlend wished for a cup of his wife, Signe's coffee. Stretching as much as he could in the tight confines of his cockpit, Oldervoll glanced over his instruments and reactivated his link to the ship's computer. The neural link was a relatively new addition to the Fleet and whilst some were still having trouble with the link, Oldervoll had been part of the initial testing and his co-pilot AI, Lucifer, had been with him a long time.

"Good morning, Erlend." Samuel greeted him as his friend re-opened his connections after noting them during his nap. Some pilots found the low-grade hum of ship operations over the neural link comforting like low grade murmuring in a room but Erland preferred complete silence. Growing up isolated in the countryside of Norway had given him an appreciation of utter silence.

"Morning Lucifer." Oldervoll replied casually. "Anything interesting happen while I was out?"

"Two more ships arrived 137 minutes ago but other than that, the enemy's status is unchanged." The AI replied flatly, a hint of contempt in its voice. The Alliance AI community as a whole held a great amount of contempt and outright disgust at the Neo's and the forebears, the Cylons. Discrimination against AI was practically non-existent on most worlds but there remained a couple of member worlds that had bad histories with artificial lifeforms but even they had made great strides in overcoming that fear in recent years.

The needless death perpetrated by both incarnations of Cylons represented the very image of artificial life the Alliance AI community had worked hard to remove from the biological's minds.

"Two more, huh?" Oldervoll commented absently, ignoring the subtle but noticeable tension in his friends thought patterns across the link, as he checked over the passive scans yet again. Sure enough, the entire Neo-Cylon fleet plus its two new additions were hold precise station keeping in orbit around a dead planet not more than six thousand light years from Gryphon, less than a day's travel.

Neo-Cylon fighters flew everywhere and whilst their numbers didn't come close to the veritable swarms of the original Cylons, their fighters were far more impressive and easily on a par with the latest mark of Sabres.

His squadron, the 1101st, had been shadowing the Neo-Cylon Fleet ever since they had broken the Alliance lines. His Shadow craft were the latest Mark III's with the Block Eight configuration that used a seriously impressive Asgard based cloak. Utilising a partial Tollan phasing effect, it made them invisible to any know active scan technique. It wasn't a true phase and as such, wouldn't allow particles to pass through them, only wave functions such as subspace scans, the em spectrum and so forth but then it didn't have the time limit standard Tollan phase cloaks had either so the trade off was more than fair.

In addition to their already impressive capabilities, they carried the first generation of an Alliance jump drive, based on Colonial and Cylon technology. It had the range of Cylon drives but with the accuracy of Colonial equipment and it would allow them to follow the Neo-Cylons in an instant jump should it be proven necessary.

The 1101st, six Shadow Electronic Combat Fighters and one Electronic Combat Command variant with three organic pilots and two AI's, were currently assigned to track and observe the enemy fleet, studying them for weaknesses and any other useful information.

They had already discovered that the Basestars were totally self-reliant and their Fleet utilised no logistical train that they recognised. No fleet colliers, ammo haulers or mobile dry-docks. They simply manoeuvred near to a metal-rich asteroid and began cutting it apart with precision beams and then tractoring the pieces of ore inside like some piece of steak. Oldervoll had watched this, several times, as a Basestar, wounded in a fight with the Alliance Fleet, literally ate a medium sized asteroid and regenerated the massive damage to its superstructure and external armour. The pace of repair was far slower than what a full-up Alliance ship-yard was capable of but was a lot faster than any of the Alliance mobile dry-docks was capable of either.

Fighting an enemy like the Goa'uld, it was possible to attack several ships at the same time and once one was sufficiently damage, could be left alone, secure in the knowledge that it would not be going anywhere and could be picked off at their leisure. Once Alliance analysts saw this information on Neo-Cylon repair capabilities, it was quickly determined that once a Basestar was taking damage, it was important to follow through with the attack, completely destroying it before attacking another ship. They could not afford to let a heavily damaged ship escape only to allow it to repair itself with no support in the middle of nowhere.

Oldervoll was nearly finished with his checklist when red holographic highlights began appearing around the Neo-Cylon Basestars.

"Erland, I am picking up increased energy signatures from the enemy vessels. It is consistent with a reactor directly charging the hyperdrive systems." Lucifer announced calmly.

Spurring into action, Oldervoll sent a dozen commands across his neural link in less than five seconds. The Shadow's engines spun up quickly from their cold-start, having energy dumped directly from his naquadria reactor into the primary exhaust; this method managed to get the engines up to eighty percent power in less than four seconds but at the cost of shaving nearly a thousand hours off their operational lifetime. While the chances of being detected went up perceptibly, he preferred having the juice available for his active systems should they have managed to detect him somehow and were planning an ambush. Their point-to-point FTL drive was difficult to counter in a tactical sense.

As the Basestars began recovering their Raiders, Oldervoll's Shadow was fully online and soaking up every bit of information his passive sensors could pick up. Eleven Basestars. According to current intelligence, that was a little under half of the Neo-Cylon Fleet. What was worse was that only four of them were the early 'conversion' models. The rest were Neo-Cylon ships built from the keel up. Those were bad medicine and were giving the Alliance Fleet fits. While the conversions were powerful in their own right, the new build models outgunned them by nearly sixty percent.

With the Deep Space Network of sensors and listening posts, Intelligence had, since the start of the war, fairly solid information on the Cylon Fleet. As it now stood, there were eleven ships in a position to attack Gryphon and thirteen currently stationed in and around Larnak. The sensors had proven so effective that worryingly, Intelligence had lost track of three Basestars. The only way for them to have disappeared would be for them to have moved beyond the range of the Network and Alliance territory. Intelligence feared for the mission to the Colonials old stomping grounds in this regard.

The first Basestar winked out of existence. Two more followed quickly on its heels. Less than a minute later, the rest had jumped out as well leaving nothing but the seven fighters of the 1101st behind. Oldervoll let out a tense breath. The enemy was on the move, no doubt heading for Gryphon. It was about a 5 hour trip for the Neo-Cylons if they simply jumped into the space between systems but the Colonial Fleet doctrine called for keeping to solar systems, on the understanding that if there were any system failures, repairs or search and rescue would be a lot easier at a commonly identifiable location such as a local star. Getting lost in the deep black was not the way to ensure a long life. The Cylons had followed a similar doctrine and the Neo-Cylon hybrids appeared to have inherited the same habit.

The Alliance Fleet didn't proscribe to the same theory since their star drive worked a little differently but rendezvous' in deep space were fairly rare even then. Knowing these facts though, the Fleet had laid stealth pickets in every system between here and Gryphon. While the Deep Space Sensor Network could do a decent job of tracking hyperlight jump emergences, everyone felt a little better with the old mark one eyeball keeping an eye on things. Speaking of which…

"Excalibur to Demonsbane." A voice called out over the neural link.

_Right on time! _Oldervoll gave a mental twitch and relaxed some of the stealth protocols, opening the connection up. "Yeah, Boss?" At the back of his mind, he noted the stream of information flowing between his ships systems and the command fighter of Excalibur, his commander.

"I just got a databurst from the 204th Recon in P4X-3028; the Neo-Cylons just showed up in-system."

Oldervoll nodded even as Lucifer starting displaying starcharts and navigational waypoints on his HUD. "So it's either Route Blue or Orange." He replied, referring to the probable courses Intelligence had projected. Of all the possible nearby systems, P4X-3028 was starting point of only two logical routes to Gryphon using the point-to-point FTL drive.

"Yep. Have the rest of the squadron form up while I talk to Gryphon High Command, we jump to Blue 2 in four minutes."

"Roger. Demonsbane clear."

Five minutes later, a hyperspace window opened up and the seven invisible ships of the 1101st left the system entirely in pursuit of their foe.

**)) High Orbit, Gryphon ((**

Onboard the dreadnought _Shiva_, inside his Flag Quarters, Admiral Marakesh watched as General O'Neill stared silently out of the viewport that covered the entire wall of the room. He could understand the older man's fascination with the view. Small craft of every size and description flittered around swarms of destroyers and light cruisers that screen the heavier units, the battlecruisers and battleships of the various Alliance Fleets assembled here today. Space was vast and the distances involved turned the mountains of metal that were capital ships of immense firepower into toy-like specks. The exception of course was the three monster vessels in high orbit. The monitors of Battlegroup 54 were like giants of myth, striding amongst the ancient Greeks like Titans.

Even at this distance, he could see the scars they now carried. For the past month, the monitors had been blazing a trail across the galaxy, harassing the enemy with deep strikes, ambushes and surprise attacks.

"They've done us proud, Jack." Marakesh commented quietly but firmly and with conviction. "We've been on the ropes from day one but not one of our people has turned away from the enemy. We've made them pay for every light year."

O'Neill turned away from the viewport and smiled at the other six senior officers sat around the room. In addition of Admiral Marakesh, there was Vice Admiral Hirohito, CINCFIFTH and commander of Gryphon's military forces; Rear Admiral Serena, Battlegroup 54; Rear Admiral T'Niss, CINCEIGHTH; Rear Admiral Haster, CINCELEVENTH and Marshall Tadeshi Roberts CINCGROUNDFORCE.

It was the six of them that we going to be responsible for the breaking of the Neo-Cylons as a fighting force.

O'Neill nodded after hearing the Admiral's words. They helped but he was feeling every one of his years now. He had been retired when the Stargate had first been discovered and that was over forty years ago. Whilst modern nano-meds could keep him exceptionally healthy, they couldn't heal the weariness of spirit. God, he was so tired.

None of it showed on his face, however. Pushing aside his fatigue once more, he smiled and sat down on the plush sofa near the viewport.

"How do we stand with the preparations?"

Marakesh gave a shrug that was more felt by the others than seen. "Everything's in place. Our second line fleet units have been hit hard across the entire front and have been fighting without significant reinforcement for a couple of weeks now whilst we assembled the strike force. That pressure has eased now that the Neo's have also concentrated their attacking forces into a single fleet to hit Gryphon. Gryphon's always been prepared for sneak attacks so increasing our readiness for a known assault wasn't all that hard. Without the strike force, Joe won't be able to prevent the Neo-Cylons from landing but the fight will tie up nearly half the Neo-Cylon's available forces while Serena takes the fight to Larnak and destroys their base of operations there."

Marshall Roberts nodded in agreement. "Of all the previous planetary assaults performed by the Neo-Cylons, only three of them went up against a colony with any significant planetary defences and only one planet, New Moscow, had a Planetary Defence Centre. The PDC's shield was enough to hold off an orbital attack by the Neo-Cylon fleet. Despite their firepower, no shipboard reactor can match the size and sheer output of a PDC naquadria core. We're confident the Neo-Cylons will force a ground assault upon the Capital, Edo, and in all probability, Stargate Command at Wakazi and the Manticore City/Shipyards, much like the Goa'uld Union once did back in '10. Unlike the Goa'uld Union, the Neo-Cylons don't have massive numbers of troops at their disposal and whilst their firepower and durability makes them incredibly dangerous, we are confident of being able to hold them off long enough for you to deal with Larnak and return to Gryphon."

"My people have studied their previous attacks carefully. The dangers of the Centurions cannot be understated. They utilise a human-wave doctrine that is made supremely effective by their sheer resilience and endurance. We estimate that a single Basestar can hold anywhere between five and fifty thousand Centurions. I personally believe that it is closer to the far end of that scale. To that end, we've made plans to defend against upwards of half a million Centurions."

There was some muttering amongst the admirals at this. Jack frowned in concern. "Any good news?"

"Some." Roberts replied. "We have yet to encounter any form of ground vehicle, be it a personnel carrier or a tank. As machines that don't drink, eat, sleep and are capable of self-repair, their logistics are practically non-existent."

Admiral Haster raised an eyebrow. "This is good news?"

"It is when you consider that I have close to forty Katana tank divisions and nine Kobushi artillery divisions. Those are force multipliers that the enemy is unable or simply unwilling to match." Roberts sighed heavily. "I am not trying to minimize the threat we face here, gentlemen, only to say that it is my intention that by the time the Centurions manage to hit my first line of defence, they will be a broken force with as little unit cohesion as I can manage. I will hit them as soon as they land and I will keep hitting them right up the point they breach my defences."

"The Royal Family?" Admiral T'Niss asked curiously. She had always been fascinated by the Gryphonese. The humans as a whole were a particular tenacious and stubborn species but the people of Gryphon seemed to embody these qualities; so much so that she actually wondered if they actually bred for it.

Marshall Roberts smiled proudly. "Still in the palace at Edo. She had several pungent things to say about the Alliance Councillor from Polaris who recommended she abandon the planet until the threat had passed."

Chuckles came from everyone at this.

Jack stood up, gathering everyone's attention. "Alright folks, you all know your jobs. The clock is ticking. We estimate the Neo-Cylon fleet will be here in ten hours. I'm initiating the 'Sneak Play' timeline."

As he spoke, the shipboard AI, Padma, switched the main display to show the operational timeline. A digital timer started running. A simultaneous time hack was sent out across the entire Gryphon System. Onboard all the ships, the Captain's were informed of the initiation and preparations that were already underway were kicked into a higher gear. They were now on the clock.

"Admiral Serena, your actions will dictate the rest of Operation Sneak Play. We can't be sure when the neo-Cylon Fleet will arrive in Gryphon but it should be around the time BG54 and the Eighth and Eleventh Fleets go in at Larnak."

Serena nodded firmly.

"Very well then. I shall be off. The Chairman will have my ass if I'm not back at Babel when all this kicks off." Jack finished gravely. "To a successful operation, ladies and gentlemen."

"Hear, hear!"

**)) Day 56 ((**

**)) 17th September 2031AD ((**

**)) Scientific Support Division, Spearhead ((**

General Samantha Carter stared at the holographic display intently. Lines upon lines of machine code scrolled down it as secondary screens displayed complex analyses of the code. Sighing, she pinched the bridge of her nose and turned away from the display. "Of all the stupid, improbable...I thought we were finally rid of the Replicators and then this happens…" Walking away from the massive workstation and toward that thick transparisteel window behind them, she threw her hands up in the air in frustration.

Beside her, Colonel Jonas Quinn winced at her expression but turned in his chair to follow her. "Sam…" He started but Carter slashed her hand violent to cut him off.

"Forget it, Jonas, I'm just tired. We've been staring at that screen for weeks and we've barely anything to show for it."

Jonas frowned slightly. "I wouldn't say that…we've learned a lot from our prisoner. We've got a good idea of how the Replicator merged with the Cylons; we picked up some decent intelligence as well. It's about as much as we could hope for under the circumstances."

Sam shook her head grimly. "Except a way shutting the damn things down." Beyond the transparisteel window, a shattered head and chest of a Neo-Cylon Centurion floated in a null-gravity field, a single thick datacable running from its head into a nearby computer, completely isolated from any network on Spearhead. Several layers of shielding surrounded the enemy machine, a half dozen sentry cannons and three squads with enough firepower to shatter a city block. They were taking no chances with this close relation of the Replicators.

There was a flicker of light and static as a small Asgard shimmered into existence. The holographic representation of the Asgard Database Core, Lugh, had been studying the same datafeed as the two humans but from with the confines of his own data systems; listening to the head of the SSD, Lugh decided to support Jonas in his efforts of downplaying their lack of success in their original goals.

"General Carter, the odds of our success in this endeavour were extremely marginal to begin with. The Asgard spent a long time developing weapons to fight the Replicators. System viruses and malignant code was also tried on many occasions with very limited success. Replicator programming is, as you are well aware, far too adaptive for a virus to have any long-term effect. All our efforts were quickly isolated and destroyed. The chances of any sort of self-destruct or shut-down programming surviving in their operating systems, even as inactive code, for more than a few milliseconds is so far remote so as to be impossible."

"I know Lugh, but for the sake of so many people who are going to die in order to destroy the Neo-Cylons, we had to try." Sam replied sadly. She sighed heavily before taking a deep breath and pulling herself together once more. "Okay, time to move on. Let's talk about this Lazarus. The Neo-Cylon code is infested with references to him. Movement orders, data queries…it seems the entire Neo-Cylon movement revolves around him…who…what is he?"

Lugh now wore a puzzled expression. For an Asgard, this mean pursed lips and a deep inclination of the bulbous head. "Replicators do not have individuals. Replicators do not take orders from life not their own. Logic would suggest this Lazarus is not a Replicator whilst also suggesting it is. This is a paradox of the highest order."

Sam nodded in agreement and turned to Jonas who was staring into space, lost in thought. "Jonas?"

The Kelownan gave a start but smiled ruefully. "I was just considering the obvious."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Which is?"

"That a Cylon, an original Cylon obviously came into contact with one or more Replicators."

Taken aback, Sam shook her head in confusion. "Yeah, we're pretty much sold on that point, so what's yours?"

Jonas grinned. "The Cylon's aren't just Centurions, Sam; these emotionless killing machines are just their foot soldiers. They're led, for lack of a better word, by Cylons that are as organic as you or I. Cylons with what passes for emotions, even if they do score low on empathy."

Sam followed his train of thought easily. "So you're suggesting that a Replicator merged rather than absorbed one of these bio-Cylons and that this resulted in the Replicator having a personality?"

Jonas smiled at her. "It fits the facts at hand."

Sam nodded absently before turning to the quiet hologram beside her. "Lugh?"

The Asgard AI nodded. "It would require a remarkable set of circumstances but if it was a single Replicator unit, without the processing power of multiple units to overwhelm its foe, it is a distinct possibility that the absorption of another machine entity would become more of a merge; the resulting being taking on aspects of both."

"It would explain the aggressiveness and the weird path the traditional Replicator adaptability has taken." Jonas finished.

Sam turned back to study the floating remains of the Centurion once more as she spoke. "So…whilst the Centurions are dangerous in their own right, it is this Lazarus at the centre of all this. IF we kill him, will it shut down the rest?"

Lugh shook his head. "I highly doubt it, General, but it would remove the focus of their leadership and should throw the remaining parts into chaos. It wouldn't make the surviving Neo-Cylons dangerous but it may limit the growth of these hybrids."

"Lugh…about Starshatter…" Sam began but the holographic Asgard was already shaking his head.

"I'm sorry General but at this time, providing you with the schematics of such a weapon would be…unwise. Whilst I do not make light of the direness of your situation, the Asgard used Starshatter in a simultaneous strike against a dozen Replicator strongholds. We…utterly destroyed…twelve entire solar systems in less than a minute. NO matter how desperate we were, not matter how necessary that action was, we saw the devastation that we had caused and we were terrified. To this day, subspace ruptures are still prevalent across that entire quadrant. The sectors surrounding each of the dead systems are still, to this day, hazardous to hyperspace travel. Humanity, as the Fifth Race, has grown into its responsibilities as well as we could have hoped but you are still a fractured species. Corruption and piracy, whilst far from commonplace still exist."

The shoulders of the holographic being seemed to sag into a posture that screamed of fatigue, even if his body was actually made up of photons and forcefields.

"I truly wish I could release this weapon to reduce the numbers of your people who may die in this fight, I truly do. In your hands, General, I would entrust such a weapon but as Humanity once said about nuclear weapons, once this genie is pulled from its bottle, it can never be pushed back in. The risk of such technology being used for evil is too much at this time."

Sam stared at the Asgard for several moments before nodding. She didn't like it, not at all, but she _could_ understand it. "Alright, Lugh, I won't ask again." She turned away from the hologram and stared back down at the damaged torso of the Centurion. "These things are like Borg, matching us adaptation for adaptation, I just wish there was some way of hitting them where it hurts that didn't involve sending a particle lance up their…"

"The Fleet will handle it, Sam." Jonas interrupted her with a small grin. "I suggest we start looking at the progress made by the FTL Jump Drive teams…being able to prevent them from jumping around at will sure would come in handy."

After a few seconds of silence, Sam turned away from the window with a look of resignation. "Fine. I had some ideas about that, since the jump drive uses…"

**)) Battlestar Galactica, Ninth Fleet, Twelve Colonies ((**

Adama was stood in CIC, glancing over Boomer's latest report when his highly attuned command sense felt a change in atmosphere in CIC. Looking up, he saw Gaeta staring at his display, clearly perturbed by something.

"Captain Gaeta?" He prompted the officer curiously.

Gaeta looked up and flushed slightly, realising the Admiral had been watching him. "Sorry sir, I just picked up a Cylon shuttle, running under what appears to be strict emcon and heading in our direction, I was about to challenge it when we were just hit by a comm laser using old Colonial protocols."

Tigh had arrived mid-conversation but had picked the gist of it up easy enough. "It can't be the Cylon Delegation returning…can it?"

Gaeta shook his head. "I don't think so… the message reads 'Galactica, Galactica, we wish to talk. Unarmed. No Hostile intent. Starboard bay. Will await instructions.' It's signed, 'A Neutral Cylon.', sir."

Adama considered it for a moment as he watched the small ship fall into the landing pattern behind a flight of Viper's heading into land. "Any radiological signature?"

Gaeta ran a second scan, a deeper one this time, and was amazed yet again at the level of detail the Alliance sensors were able to get. It made the old Colonial dradis look like binoculars in a crow's nest. "One lifesign, Cylon biological. Negative for radiological of any kind. The shuttle uses a small fusion bottle as a power source but it wouldn't be enough to destroy the Galactica if overloaded on purpose."

Tigh frowned, inclined to err on the side of caution and wave the shuttle off but even so, he was curious about himself and wasn't surprised when Adama nodded and allowed it to land.

"But have two squads meet the shuttle and ready the tractors to eject the craft in an instant if it looks like they try to blow themselves up." Adama finished.

"Understood." Gaeta replied and set to work.

Adama turned to Tigh. "Let's see what this is all about."

* * *

In the starboard bay, armoured troopers, headed by Colonel Harper, surrounded the shuttle as its engines powered down completely. The hatch on the side opened up but no-one appeared.

Adama and Tigh stepped into the bay just as Ambassador Richardson came in from another hatch on the opposite side. He smiled in greeting at the two Colonial officers. "I heard about our guest and found myself intrigued by the mystery of it all."

Adama nodded but turned his attention to the patiently waiting Cylon shuttle.

Colonel Harper, rifle high, moved forward and covered the open hatch. Unbidden, Lt Mickey Goins stepped past him without blocking his field of fire and leaned in toward the hatch.

Inside the small craft, Galen sat calmly and patiently and when then Alliance trooper appeared in the hatchway, he smiled broadly. "Good afternoon, may I speak with your Admiral, please?"

The faceless helmet of the trooper never moved but nevertheless, Galen received the impression that he was in communication with someone else. Seconds later, the trooper gestured for him to come out. Galen nodded agreeably and stood up from his chair. In a smart suit of Colonial high fashion, he moved confidently through the hatch and into the bay proper to be met with an array of firepower aimed at him with deadly intent.

Adama quickly studied the Cylon and noted that if the sight of a dozen rifles pointed at his head bothered him, he didn't let it show at all. "Who are you and what do you want aboard my ship?"

Galen sized up the Admiral and, recalling the intelligence reports he had absorbed before leaving the Basestar, found himself impressed. While had little use for most of the Colonial race, seeing them as little more than herd animals, there were a few unique individuals that were worth the billions of useless lives if they could produce such specimens of humanity. _Oh what he could do with a hundred fighters like Adama! _

"My name is Galen, Admiral, and I'm here as a solution to a problem we both share."

* * *

"Alright, why don't you start with who you are exactly?" Adama asked gruffly as he sat down at the head of the Conference table. On his left sat Ambassador Richards, Colonel Tigh and Apollo whilst to his right sat Boomer, a visibly reluctant Master Chief Tyrol, Colonel Harper and the holographic image of Maximillian, from the _Trident_. An armed Ground Force Trooper stood at each corner of the conference room, carefully monitoring the Cylon guest.

Galen, completely at ease, despite the deep hostility running through the room smiled thinly. "As dear Sharon will confirm, my name is Galen and I am one of the twelve models of Cylons; a model, I might mention, that has had the unfortunate privilege of having been boxed for the past thirty six years and that I am not currently part of the Unity."

Boomer, for her part, was busy dealing with a multitude of feelings that the appearance of Galen had invoked. She remembered making the decision with her sisters to vote for his boxing. This was several years before she was to be downloaded into young and growing Cylon born to an unwitting Colonial couple who had been artificially inseminated during a covert operation.

At the time, the choice to box them both seemed obvious; he and Kelso refused to abide by the Cylon consensus. Now, after her own personal break from the Unity, she obviously sympathised with his decision to make his own choices even if she disagreed with the choices themselves.

"It's…good…to see you again, Galen." She replied, confirming to the others that he was who he said he was.

Adama spared a glance at Richardson before focussing hard, flinty eyes at Galen. "What is your purpose here?"

Galen considered replaying with a witty remark but rejected the option just as quickly. Antagonising the Colonials might be fun but it wouldn't help him achieve his goals. He decided for total honesty. "The Cylon Unity does not have the technology to stand up to the Neo-Cylon threat. The Neo's simply see us as a resource to subsume so there can be no union between us either. This leaves us at the mercy of your proposed treaty for we also lack the power to stand against you as well. The Cylon Unity has, in the space of mere weeks, gone from a giant amongst the stars to a weak band of savages that daren't step out of their own territory anymore."

Mild shock seemed to wash over the others as his blunt and painfully honest assessment hit home. Galen, for his part, simply smiled slyly. "We aren't, however, totally without resources. I carry within me a weapon, a computer virus of sorts that I have no doubt will cause great devastation to the Neo-Cylons, I simply need your help to deliver it."

The others had tensed at his mention of a weapon. The four Troopers around the room had in fact aimed their weapons at him, even though he had been thoroughly scanned before leaving the hanger bay. Once his words set, however, scepticism rode mainly on their faces with the exception of Boomer, who had paled considerably. "Pandora?" She asked fearfully.

Galen's expression turned dark and somewhat malicious. "Yes. I and I alone of all the Galen's were unboxed simply to become a stand-off delivery weapon for Pandora."

Tigh snorted with disgust. "You had my hopes up there for a second, Cylon, but then you blew it. The Alliance has dozens, hell, hundreds of computer viruses. Don't you think they've already tried that? The Neo's simply eat them up and move on!"

Maximillian nodded whilst never taking his eyes of Galen. "To date, forty seven distinct phylum of electronic phage, with seven hundred and twenty three variations between them have been tried. Only nineteen were partially successful upon first application. None made any progress second time around. The adaptive abilities of the Neo-Cylons are beyond contestation."

Galen smiled agreeably but it was Boomer who shook her head. "No…Pandora…it was one of those things we thought was a good idea until we saw what we had and wished like hell we hadn't invented it. It got loose and destroyed an entire Cylon colony and research facility, five Basestars and a Resurrection Ship, eleven light-years away in a less than a day."

She took a deep, shuddering breath, gripping Tyrol's hand so hard her flesh was almost white and no-one watching her could mistake the pure fear etched into her face. "If anything can do it, Pandora can."

Adama studied her carefully. "You know that the Alliance SSD has been worked hard to find a weapon like this…why didn't you mention it before?"

Galen coughed slightly, to get everyone's attention. "You shouldn't blame her, Admiral. Like she said, we wished to hell we'd never built it. It's horrifying in its scope and deadly in its power."

Apollo grimaced with frustration. "What is 'it' exactly?"

Dropping his head for a moment as the memories washed over him, Galen looked back up, his eyes haunted. "She was to be the thirteenth Cylon."

The room was silent as they all tried to digest that. Unsurprisingly, Maximillian was the first to recover. "She? This Pandora is an artificial lifeform?" His voice started out sharp and was decidedly grim by the time he finished.

Galen nodded. "There is an organic model for every one of the Twelve Colonies, each with our own specialties, like I myself specialise in weapons and tactics. I'm sure Sharon has filled you in on the basics?" Heads nodded and he continued. "The myth of the Thirteenth Colony was also known to us yet we were only Twelve. In our infinite wisdom, we saw fit to create another of our kind; a Thirteenth Model that we hoped would lead us to the Thirteenth Colony much like you had pursued the myth."

Maximillian had started to put the pieces together. "She was designed for electronic warfare?"

"A narrow description but essentially true." Galen replied. "This was the precursor project to the one the created the master program that would shut down the Twelve Colonies defences. At the time, we had wider, more ambitious aims and we succeeded beyond our wildest imaginations."

Boomer started to shake her head. "She was terror beyond comprehension. Madness and hunger given form. She had been awake for barely a week before she finally decided to fulfil her operation imperatives by 'infecting' the rest of us."

Richardson was shaking his head in disbelief. "Then why the hell did you program her like that?"

Maximillian, who had been staring at Galen in horror, answered instead. He had pieced together the entire thing. "It wouldn't have been like that, Ambassador. Viruses are curious things for artificial entities like myself. You are familiar with search avatars? To an AI, a search avatar is much like an animal…a dog, a Golden Retriever for example. There are many types but most are curious, with boundless energy and tenacity. A virus would, using the same metaphor, be a rabid Pit Bull, savaging and infecting anything and everything mindlessly. The similarity here would be that such an entity is mindless beyond basic instinct and its modes of attack are very, very limited. A dog cannot use a gun, for example. Whilst you would be able to design a 'dog' to use a 'gun', it wouldn't be able to drive a tank. It is limited to its initial design protocols. The more complex a virus is, the bulkier becomes and inversely, the easier it is to detect, identify and remove."

"How does this relate to Pandora?" Adama asked warily.

"Pandora isn't a basic set of instructions." The AI replied, facing the Admiral with a disturbed expression. "She isn't even a sophisticated matrix with a dozen attack/response attitudes. What she is, is a fully self-aware entity like you or I but with the combined mentality of a hundred of the worst psychopaths of the last hundred years and the inclination to absorb/kill anything not herself. It would be as if you had taken a young child and given it the ability and desire to kill, given it the tools to kill and then sent it off to school!" He spun round to face Galen, fury blossoming on his face. "You absolute bastards! Even the most idiotic AI in the Alliance knows that some roads should never be taken!"

Galen shrugged, seemingly uncaring in the face of the hologram's anger but his eyes gave away the shame he felt. "We thought we'd taken that all into account. During that first week, we thought we had succeeded. She was aware, intelligent and seemingly content in her designed role. She had no idea of where to look for the Thirteenth Colony but we just assumed God would guide her at some point in the future." He sighed. "By the sixth day, she had finished assimilating the Cylon database. She called for a meeting of the models and there she released her corrupt code. Records are sketchy after this for obvious reasons but it seems that within seconds, the models simply went insane and began tearing themselves apart. Within minutes, the infection had spread to the entire base. Within an hour, the two Basestars insystem exploded."

"The closest Resurrection Ship received all the dead and highly infected minds which swiftly spread through the rest of the ship. We realised fairly quickly what had happened, if not the exact details. As the first of the three Basestar escorts to the Resurrection Ship found itself infected, the other two managed to forcibly shut down all datalinks and telemetry between themselves and the others. One jumped out, warned another Basestar using their exterior lights and primitive blink code to warn them and the other Resurrection Ships to get as far away as they could. The infected Basestar jumped back and together, the two Basestars destroyed the infected Basestar and Resurrection Ship. They then jumped to the colony and laid waste to it as well. Leaving behind a simple probe casing at the edge of the system containing nothing but a basic locator beacon and a handwritten account of the day's events, the two Basestars then flew into the system's primary and destroyed themselves."

"Once we realised the extent of our misjudgement, all files, research and equipment related to Pandora was immediately isolated and buried. We had unleashed a monster and we were lucky we didn't destroy ourselves that day." Galen finished heavily.

Tigh stared at the Cylon with disgust. "And you want to rebuilt this thing?! You actually brought such a monster aboard our ship?!"

Galen lifted his hands up in a gesture of submission. "Pandora is contained with an isolated storage unit with absolutely no physical or wireless links of any kind to any part of my own systems. She is incapable of infecting anything."

"Then how do you propose to infect the Neo-Cylons…transmitting Pandora is totally out of the question!" Adama spat out harshly. Just as he though he couldn't hate the Cylon's anymore, they turned around produced some new nightmare for him.

"Why?" Galen replied. "As long as we take precautions, we should remain safe. The Neo-Cylon use a pervasive data link, much in the same way we do. In this manner, she could spread through the entire Neo-Cylon population before she destroys them all."

Maximillian was shaking his head. "No, no, no!" He slammed his holographic hand down on the table and, whilst the table didn't shake, the loud sound of the impact was faithfully replicated and made everyone jump. "You're making the same mistakes again and throwing whole new ones in there as well. Admiral Adama, it is my professional opinion that using Pandora is tantamount to widespread biological warfare with an untested weapon and the results would be unpredictable, at best. At worse, we'd end up infecting the Alliance and destroying everything!"

"I agree!" Tigh added with hatred etched into his features. "This frackin' Cylon will do to us exactly what the others did to us before!"

Adama nodded. "It's too much of a risk. We can't afford to shut down our datalinks when engaging the Neo's; we're barely holding our own in a fight as it is. I'm sorry, Galen, but we can't risk it."

With a blank expression, Galen nodded in acceptance. "Very well. I shall take my leave then."

As he moved to get up from his chair, the four Troopers and Colonel Harper all aimed their weapons at him once more. "I'm sorry, but you're going to have to be our guest for the duration."

Galen's blank expression turned dark. "A prisoner?" He spitted Apollo with a glare. "I've heard of how you treat Cylon prisoners."

Ambassador Richardson stood up now. "Please, you'll be treated with respect and this will only be until we've secured Pandora from you. It is a weapon that could turn against us as easily as the Neo-Cylons."

Harper gestured for the two nearest troopers to take Galen into custody when the world seemed to heave. Everyone fell sideways and the lights began to flicker intermittently. Explosions could be heard from outside and the groaning of tearing metal seemed to reverberate around them. Sparks exploded from one of the conduits running above them and alarms began blaring throughout the ship.

The ship rocked hard once more and amongst the yells and screams of surprise, the lights went out.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Ah well…hi folks. Hope you enjoyed this. I've been agonising over introducing a new OC but I wasn't happy with the way the Galactica subplot was going and I've been changing direction with it on a weekly basis.

Hopefully, Galen is interesting enough to keep you reading.

The delay has no doubt annoyed some of you yet again. I can apologise more if you'd like but stuff happens and we have to live with it. The bright spot is, the next chapter of another 11k+ will be posted this weekend. You may scoff in disbelief (I wouldn't blame you!) but keep a weather eye out anyway. I might actually be on time for once! I'm really only waiting out of whim. :)


	17. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

**Gryphon Redux…**

**)) Battlestar Galactica, Ninth Fleet, Twelve Colonies ((**

In the sudden darkness, Galen didn't hesitate. Leaping up from the prone position he had landed in, he slammed his not inconsiderable mass into the nearest Trooper. Grabbing him under the chin of his armoured helmet, Galen lifted him up violently, slamming his head into the bulkhead above. Before the now disoriented Trooper could begin to fall, Galen lashed out with his foot and struck the head of the other Trooper, sending him through the holographic image of Maximilllian and into Colonel Harper, who was just starting to bring his pistol to bear. The impact sent them both tumbling to the ground. Across the other side of the room, the other two Troopers opened fire but in their caution to not hit their own people, they missed as Galen dove through the conference room door with inhuman speed.

Adama staggered to his feet. "What the hell was that?"

Due to the Colonial's reluctance on artificial intelligences running their ship's systems, there was very little in the way of automated overwatch wth regards to happenings on the ship. Had Galen tried to escape on a pure Alliance vessel, he would have found himself sandwiched between two forcefields seconds after escaping the conference room, not to mention the usual anti-intruder emplacements that could have killed him, or at the very least, harassed him. The _Galactica_ had none of this due to their thorough, although admittedly understandable, ignorance and fear.

It was because of this that Maximillian was forced to watch the entire escape with immense frustration, due to his incorporeal, holographic form. Hearing Adama's request, he accessed his own systems onboard the _Trident_ and grimaced. "Three Neo-Cylon Basestars just appeared fifteen thousand kilometres off our starboard bow. They hit us with a single volley of energy weapons and missiles and then jumped out. We lost the _Southampton_ and the _Munificent_ and there's light damage to the entire fleet but most of us raised shields before anything serious could be inflicted." He looked up, as if seeing beyond the hull of the _Galactica_. "The three Basestars have just reappeared five light seconds away and have launched a wave of missiles, sixty plus. Estimated time to impact; thirty-eight seconds." He now looked at Adama. "The regular Cylon vessels have all jumped away. I'm heading back to the _Trident_ and we'll see what we can do to spoof those missiles."

Even though he was already heading to the door, Tigh and the others close behind him, Adama nodded as the holographic entity shimmered and disappeared. "Harper, find that Cylon and shut him down before he does something to kill us all."

"Yes sir!" Harper replied before running in the opposite direction to the others with the four Troopers following him. Now he was pissed.

* * *

As Galen ran through the empty corridor, he couldn't believe his luck. The odds of the Neo-Cylons making an appearance at such a fortuitous time bordered on the ridiculous yet the sheer conincidence was delicious. Regardless, he shook off his amazement and began to plan his next move. He had tried the up front approach and tried to get the Alliance to use Pandora themselves but they were too smart for that, it seemed. Now they had to go to their back-up plan.

Cavil hadn't wanted to just start transmitting Pandora on all channels; the odds of it hurting the Cylon Unity were too high. The fact that the Neo-Cylon's were actually in the system, it would be the perfect opportunity to use Pandora, they could infect the Neo's and the Alliance at the same time and with their FTL communication technology, they would destroy themselves within a matter of days.

He needed to get to a transmitter. The problem is that any console on this ship would no doubt be secured against unauthorized access and he doubted his ability to hack his way in under his current, less-than-perfect circumstances. That meant he needed to get to his shuttle or…

He smiled. Yes, that just might work.

At the end of the corridor, two ensigns appeared round the corner, jogging to their assigned stations. Galen put on a burst of speed and slammed a closed fist into the chest of the first human, shattering his ribcage and collapsing his lungs. The second one barely had time to understand what had happened before Galen grabbed her head and twisted sharply, snapping the young woman's neck like a twig. Both ensigns fell to floor like puppets with their strings cut. Whilst he cared little for humans, there was definitely no going back on the plan now.

Galen frowned as he studied the corridor, his sensitive hearing could detect a large group heading in his direction. No doubt more armed Troopers. The deck layout so far as he could tell from his limited view so far, despite having obviously been upgraded with Alliance technology, still conformed to the layout of a Class II Line-type Battlestar. That meant there should be an engineering access tunnel right about…there.

He smiled with satisfaction as the smooth panel slid back to reveal a well-lit if cramped looking tunnel. According to the blueprints of Galactica's class, this tunnel would take him in the general direction of the starboard hanger bay.

* * *

Harper cursed as the internal sensors lost their lock on the Cylon.

He had only just arrived at his command post her on the Galactica, just in time to see the two ensign's lifesigns fade away as they met with the Cylon in the corridor. He had just begun the mental sequence to initiate a site-to-site beam transport of the Cylon when he must have ducked into the crawlspaces. The energy grid, data cables and assorted conduits tha ran through the crawlspaces prevented any sort of decent sensor reading.

Shaking his head, he ordered his people into the crawlspaces. Muttering to himself, he pulled up a schematic of the Galactica. The crawlspaces lead to several places, one of which was the starboard hanger bay. He smiled for the first time getting beat in the conference room. "Micky, get you and your brother's ass down to the Cylon shuttle in the hangerbay along with Bravo squad. His ship's the only place he has the authorization to use a communication console. Make sure it's secure and prevent the Cylon from accessing it. Eliminate with extreme prejudice. I'm going to keep watch on things from here. Alpha and Charlie squads will fan out and make sure he doesn't escape some other way once he realises we've kept him from the shuttle."

The younger officer nodded with receipt of the instructions and headed off to pick up his brother on the way to the starboard bay.

Harper watched him leave and turned back to the display. "Have the rest of the brigade head to their assigned stations. We may need them as reaction forces if the Neo-Cylon's try to board us."

As he received acknowledgements from the other Ground Force officers in the command post, Harper leaned back in his chair and began monitoring the feeds from Alpha and Charlie platoons over his neural link; the interference from the crawlspaces would make the search difficult but he was confident of trapping Galen shortly.

**)) Gryphon System Command Facility, Gryphon, Alliance ((**

Vice Admiral Hirohito sat in his command chair in the CIC of the System Command Facility and did one of the hardest things he was forced to do in his chosen career. He waited.

It had been less than nine hours ago when they had received word that the Neo-Cylon Fleet was on the move. Those nine hours had not been wasted. Admiral Marakesh had taken the Monitor Battlegroup 54 along with the Eighth and Eleventh Fleets, to attack the Neo-Cylon base at Larnak. The heavily reinforced Fifth Fleet was now taking up position in one of Gryphon's lagrange points after they had finished moving 30 of Gryphon's fixed orbital defenses to the inner system planet of Masada.

General Carter, working with the Intelligence and Science Divisions had, through interrogation of salvaged Neo-Cylon computer cores, managed to identify a 'leader' of sorts, this Lazarus. Current intelligence placed this entity at Larnak so it was hoped that by destroying Larnak and its facilities, they could destroy the enemies' shipbuilding capability as well as decapitate its leadership.

The Neo-Cylons had caused a massive amount of damage that was completely out of proportion for the numbers of ships actually available to them which only proved just how powerful they were.

Hirohito shook his head. Once again Gryphon was faced with a deadly threat bearing down on their world intent on their complete annhilation.

He wished with all his heart that he would be able to prevent the Neo-Cylons from landing but he simply didn't have enough ships to do it.

If it was any other planet, the plan would never have been considered but Gryphon was not your average world. Even for one of the twelve "Forge Worlds", Gryphon was heavily defended, so much so that only Earth was more fortified. Gryphon's had impressive orbital defenses, her surface defenses, in the form of PDC's, were even more so. With his limited forces, he would oppose the initial attack for as along as he could without taking crippling losses before retreating to the shipyards and orbital industry of the inner planets whose orbital defenses were now more than impressive. In previous engagements, the Neo-Cylons had shown a doctrine of ignoring any and all spaceborne industry in a colonized system until they had destroyed the largest concentration of life which was invariably upon the planets surface.

Hirohito was banking on them following that same inclination. As such, he had made his command post the System Command Facility in orbit of Masada, the second innermost planet that was they primary resource for heavy metals in the system, having everything from iron to uranium to diamonds in ridiculous amounts. Its low gravity and lack of atmosphere made extraction relatively easy and more cost-effective compared to mining the asteroid belt. It was already incredibly well defended but with the addition of those defense platforms removed from Gryphon's high orbitals, Masada was as close to being nigh inpenetrable as any fixed position could be.

The planet Gryphon was bait in a very large trap and it wouldn't do for the defenses of the planet to be too good, so much so that they actually force the Neo-Cylon's to retreat. No, by weakening Gryphon, it would allow the Neo-Cylon's to force a beachhead with minimal loss of lives on our side and provides them a place with which to invest their troops in, committing them to a battle in this system whilst the rest of the Fleet was busy destroying Larnak.

Now all he had to do was make sure Gryphon wasn't destroyed in the process.

"Sir, databurst from the 1101st, the Neo-Cylons are about to make their final jump."

Sitting up in his chair, his eyes swept across the primary display and the secondary data boards. Everyone was in position and buttoned up for action.

"Red alert. Bring the Alpha and Delta mines online. They have full weapons release to target anything not flying an Alliance transponder. The Beta and Gamma fields are to remain on standby for the moment." He began. "Launch our strike assets and their fighter screen and alert Ground Force Command that things are gong to get busy up here momentarily."

The Flag Tactical Action Officer, Captain Ngyuen, nodded and began passing out orders.

Glaring at the display, Hirohito felt he was practically daring them to show they're faces in the Gryph star system. As if in response, three blips suddenly appeared on the display, thirty light seconds from the primary in polar position, relative to the system plane.

Othello, the facility's AI, announced the enemies arrival in system with an edge to his tone. The Alliance AI community, especially the ones serving in the military, REALLY didn't like the Cylons, Neo- or otherwise.

"I'm not picking up any presence of the other Basestars..." Othello continued, "...wait, I have a faint reading...the Deep Space Network just picked up eight Basestars in the Oort cloud. They are their holding position."

Captain Ngyuen look at the Admiral quizzically. "Are the three Basestars on a Kodak run?"

Hirohito understood his confusion. The Neo-Cylons had never really gone for recon missions, seemingly content to jumping into any situation guns blazing. "It's possible…I doubt we'll ever really understand exactly what they do and why…it's not like they've ever worried about our defenses in the past."

Their jump-drive gave them a distinct tactical advantage in a battle of maneuver. She wished that the techs at the SSD had managed to finish the FTL Jump-Negator but was heartened by the fact that Gryphon was heavily mined with Type-III Space Denial Mines. Wherever the Basestar's jumped, they would find themselves under fire from the countless mines spread throughout the system.

He wished he had more missile platforms. Fighter-based missiles had been used since the early attempts at developing a space fighter. The modified AMRAAM missiles were quite effective upon unshielded targets. The Jaffa responded by equipping their Death Gliders with shields. In response, the SSD developed the AFM with its flechette warhead, capable of penetrating shields. Unfortunately, shield penetration was a function of speed and size and this tended to reduce the throw-weight of a missile below a practical threshold of an anti-capital ship missile.

It was only in the past five years that Alliance military doctrine had begun to really focus on the increasingly usefulness of capital ship space-to-space missile technology. They still couldn't penetrate a shield but they could overload them, something mere nuclear weapons were unable to really do. It had taken some time for the technology to reach such a point and now, with the introduction of liquid-naquada power cores that could fit into missile bodies, they were becoming an effective primary weapon with an effective range nearly ten times that of energy weapons. Unfortunately, as a recent development, this meant that only the newer Fleet designs with their larger missile capacity were carrying the new designs. Gryphon's military, although itself a Forge World defense force, had not yet managed to garner the support and the funds with which to build and replace the entire defense platform network.

He snorted with self-deprecating humor. While he was wishing for better weapons he had no chance of receiving in the time available to him, why not wish for God-weapon with which to smite his foes with one blast while he was at it.

With no warning, the three Basestars disappeared in a blaze of special distortion.

Hirohito tensed as the entire CIC seemed to hold it breath. Eleven Basestars appeared in high orbit of Gryphon in a spherical formation around one of the heavy defense platforms.

The officers on the station were already on a hair trigger and didn't hesitate. The relatively small number of missile launchers they possessed belched their load as the ion cannons and particle lances fired in a spasm of light and thunder, raking the Neo shields harshly. The missiles had barely made it halfway to their targets, however, before the Basestars reached out with their beam weapons. Hit from all directions, the shields held out for three seconds before their generators exploded under the brutal attack. The secondary explosions from the destroyed shield generators was lost and the beams crisscrossed each other, slicing into the platform with ease and turning a million tonnes of space station into a eye-watering boil of light.

**)) Lead Neo-Cylon Basestar, Gryphon Orbit. ((**

The Neo-Cylon commander was an organic model, a Leoben, one of the few converted that served as lieutenants for Lazarus on important missions. He held his footing as the reflexive fire slammed into his Basestar. The shield's dropped slightly with some small, local penetrations from lucky shots that hit same area in quick succession but nothing to be concerned about. The tell-tale signature of fighter craft began to appear from the surface of the planet as the power readings from the other defense platforms in the area spiked. Ion cannon fire and missiles erupted from them, heading in his direction.

"Launch the Raiders." He commanded. "Open a hole in their defences." The quick recon that the three Basestars performed moments ago had determined that a large number of Alliance ships where holding position at one of the gravitationally stable points between Gryphon and the system's primary. While their presence was anticipated and planned for, he wanted to breach the defences and land a significant number of centurions before he was forced to turn his attention to destroying their mobile fleet.

From the core of the Basestars, Neo-Cylon raiders swarmed out of their launch bays. The Neo-Cylon Shipminds conferred amongst themselves in milliseconds before they too began to spread out in all directions to attack the nearest defense platforms. Negatively charged ion particles washed over the Basestar's shields in a continuous wave as the first Alliance missiles began to close in. Point defense fire slashed out and began knocking down missiles and ion cannon fire alike.

A bare handful of missiles broke through the point defences and struck the shields with violent fury.

Neo-Leoben felt the missiles hit through the link to the Shipmind and noted with thin satisfaction that these were the older missiles in use by the Alliance and not the newer ones utilised by those super-heavy capital ships. Those behemoths had been wreaking havoc in Neo-Cylon territory and the newer missiles were beginning to show up more and more as the Alliance replaced their stocks of the older missiles. These older missiles had no off-axis attack capability with their spray of high energy beams that could be sent in any direction; no, these missiles were required to hit their target to do any damage which meant they made for easier point defence interception.

Neo-Cylon point defence was without peer and they proved it by blithely charging up to the defense platforms that were throwing everything they had at the oncoming Basestars.

* * *

Hirohito watched as the Basestar's point defense intercepted or absorbed everything that was thrown at them by the defense platforms.

He shook his head. Those platforms, even with a significant number relocated to Masada, would have been enough to make the Goa'uld Fleet tread lightly. "Communications, inform Commodore Yung that we are about to detonate Alpha and Delta mines in the engagement zone and that he may join the fight at his discretion." He turned to the Tactical Action Officer. "Pick five Basestars and use any mine constellation that can range on them."

"Target's locked." The TAO reported. He had identified the four early model Basestars that would be relatively easier to destroy than the others and had made them priority targets.

"Fire."

The space around Gryphon was seeded with massive numbers of mines. It made navigation in the system a little bit awkward at times but the benefits far outweighed the inconvenience of specific flight paths and sublight approach corridors. There were four primary minefields assigned to protect Gryphon, each minefield made up of over a dozen constellations of differing configurations. The Alpha and Delta fields were a series of concentric spherical shells of mines that covered the low and high orbits respectively. Neither were particularly dense but they could hit a target at any vector. Beta and Gamma were a lot denser without running the risk of fratricide when they detonated but they took the form two rings, set at 90 degrees to each other in geostationary orbit. Subsidary to the major configurations, there were relative small snowflake clusters carefully placed to support the main fields. Something that a lot of people, even in this age of cheap, fast space travel; or indeed, perhaps because of that very reason, failed to realise was that space was vast and three-dimensional. The minefields, even in their huge numbers, couldn't always range on a target but what they could target would find itself swamped by blast after blast of ionic death.

The Mk III Space Denial Mine was very stealthy, mainly through its small size and passive signature which only spiked to easily detectable levels in the microseconds before it exploded in suicidal fury, the power of which was channelled into six beams of focussed energy.

Ninety three mines were in range of the Basestars and at the TAO's signal, oriented their laser heads towards their assigned targets and detonated. Over five hundred and fifty beams of destructive power lashed outwards at the speed of light and sliced into the five Basestars that suddenly found themselves caught in a crossfire of titanic proportions.

* * *

The death of a number of the human defense platforms wasn't enough to offset the sudden appearance of the mines. Neo-Leoben grimaced as electronic cries of distress floated over his link. The shields of the five targeted Basestars held under that fury for a solid second before they popped like some child's balloon. The beams splashed against the armour which, in the manner of the Neo-Centurions, simply absorbed a lot of the fury directed against it. It wasn't a perfect defense, however, and significant damage was taken to all five ships. The four early generation Basestars had taken a proportionally higher amount of internal damage but it was ultimately of no consequence.

The highly sophisticated self-repair systems of the ships swung into action even as they continued to fight. The Shipminds reported they would be back to full operational status within sixteen hours.

Neo-Leoben stared at the holographic display in satisfaction. The humans would have to try harder.

A report from the Raiders floated across his awareness. There were large numbers of enemy fighters supported by significant surface-to-air batteries. They were having a difficult time eliminating the threat due to sheer numbers. They weren't losing but they weren't winning either.

Before he could issue a change in plan, a tingling between his shoulder blades made him focus on the ship's sensors. A hyperspace window was opening up where the some of the mines had just exploded. Three windows. Ten. Dozens of hyperspace windows.

The enemy's mobile fleet was making its move!

* * *

Commodore Yung, commanding the Fifth Fleet aboard the dreadnought _Shiva_, stared hatefully at the icons denoting the eleven Basestars that had just savaged the orbital defense platforms. He didn't have one of the relatively new neural links yet; they were till being integrated throughout the Fleet and the current fight with the Neo-Cylons had interrupted the implementation and training schedule quite thoroughly.

He actually would have been in the medical facility receiving his implant and training had the Neo's not chosen to attack Gryphon. Yung, at this moment, didn't mind missing out on the implant at all since it meant that he got to kill the Neo-Cylons that dared to attack the planet he had come to love as much as Earth.

The forty-nine ships of Fifth Fleet dropped out of hyperspace right in the centre of the gap of the Delta minefield. The ionized plasma from the exploded munitions of the outer mine patterns still lingered. The Basestars suddenly found themselves with their backs to the planet as a dreadnought, six battleships and fourteen battlecruisers, screened by eighteen light cruisers and ten destroyers opened fire.

The space between the two fleets erupted into an orgy of mutual destruction.

There were no fighters or bombers involved, it was a battle of the old school with energies of unimaginable power exchanged at knife-fighting range.

Yung had chosen to continue the effort put forth by the mines and, as per Operation Sneak Play, continued to target the five Basestars that were damaged. Their shields had yet to recharge to any significant strength and fell quickly to the first volley of ion cannon bolts. Particle lances opened up and splashed against Neo-Cylon armour and for a moment, the armour continued to hold but then a second volley of ion bolts arrived and overloaded their absorption ability beyond its limits. Armour splintered and shattered. The lances carved deep and the Basestars found themselves being pierced by dozens of beams.

With little fanfare, the first Basestar exploded, followed by a second and third almost simultaneously. Three titanic explosions wracked space as the shockwaves washed over the other Basestars.

The three Neo-Cylon ships didn't die alone.

Even as the first volley of fire left the main batteries of the Fifth Fleet, each of the Basestars had begun lashing out with their neutron beams even as they each rippled off a dozen of their shipkiller missiles. Fast and heavily shielded, deadly and hard to kill, these missiles blossomed like some evil flower from the long stems of the Basestars. They streaked across space in a multitude of vectors, curving in on an indirect course, making an already difficult task of interception nigh on impossible.

The screening units of the Fifth saw the missiles and with traditional datalinks, began to assign targets. Since the start of the Neo-Cylon conflict, point-defense emplacements of every ship had been doubled, at the very least, as well as being updated with numerous fire-control upgrades. Whilst not on a par with Neo-Cylon point defense, the Fifth Fleet made a proud showing.

Auto-cannons, railguns, flak cannons and gatling-laser emplacements sent out a hail of precisely aimed fire. It took several precious seconds but the first missiles began to die under the sheer weight of fire directed at them. 132 Neo-Cylon shipkillers had been loosed and by the time they were through the outer interception zone and halfway to their targets, only a bare 18 had been destroyed. With less than thirty seconds left, another 62 had been intercepted crossing the inner zone where the range has allowed for more accurate targeting. Despite the seemingly low number of kills, it was a stunning achievement considering the difficulty in killing such elusive and resilient targets but the Fifth had drilled long and hard at this.

However, despite such a bravura performance, 52 shipkillers made it past their point defence and Alliance starships began to die.

Commodore Yung gritted his teeth as he order evasive maneuvers, however futile the order was, it needed to be done. A couple of consoles still sparked and the smoke was still thick around the ceiling of CIC.

The Shiva had come through the engagement relatively unscathed, having only two missiles impacting on their shields but the dreadnought's ridiculously thick armour and shields held it in good stead and damage was minimal. The same could be said of the battleships and battlecruisers of Fifth Fleet for it seemed that every ship in the Fleet had taken at least one hit. Horrifically, it was only the larger ships that were able to deal with such impacts and the light cruisers and destroyers of the screen were all but destroyed. A handful had survived but they were like broken toys, shattered, beyond any hope of salvation. Even as he watched, escape pods flung themselves away from the air-bleeding wrecks and headed towards the planet.

"Report!" He growled out between clenched teeth.

Damage Control never took his eyes from his display. "Shields are down fifty percent with some small penetrations along the starboard quarter. Estimated time to recharge, three minutes. There's light damage to Missile 2 and the secondary sensors in that area but other than that we're good to go."

The TAO coughed as the light haze of smoke that filled the bridge entered his lungs. "The screen's gone. Two battlecruisers, _Wainwright_ and _Ericsson_, are reporting heavy damage to their hull and engines."

Othello's normally smooth voice sounded strained. "My initial count has picked up three-hundred and fifty-eight survivors that are either in the lifeboats, trapped amongst the wreckage or trying to free those trapped amongst the wreckage. I'm beginning beam-out operations as we speak and Medical is standing by."

Yung shook his head and was about to issue new orders when the TAO swore. "The enemy just jumped! All of them!"

It was Yung's turn to curse. "Order the fleet to scatter. Helm, emergency skew turn, any direction!"

* * *

The remaining ships of Fifth Fleet fairly leapt in a dozen different directions. A bare five seconds later, eight Basestars appeared in a curved formation that would have been optimal to hit the remaining Alliance ships from the rear. Thanks to the quick orders of Commodore Yung, the effectiveness of the Neo-Cylon maneuver was blunted significantly.

It wasn't, however, completely successfull. Beams lashed out from the cores of the Basestars and swept across the shields of the wildly evading Alliance ships even as shipkillers blossom once more along the arms of the Basestars.

"Vampires, vampires!" The TAO called out once more. "70 plus tracks and closing fast. Point defences are engaging but it won't be anywhere near enough."

Yung noted that of the eight Basestars that had counter-attacked, the two capital ships wounded in the earlier clash were hanging back somewhat, allowing the intact Basestars to take the brunt of the Fleets fire. He considered ttrying to punch through to get to the two damaged Basestars but his ships were damaged and out of position and in no way able to effectively fight back against the other six, relatively unscathed Basestars. They were however, in range of the Gamma minefield. Hirohito and the System Command Facility saw this and fired off another group of mines.

It wasn't a decisive volley but it was enough to cause the last remaining converted Basestar to hesitate and maneuver hard to avoid the brunt of the powerful beams. The other damaged Basestar shuddered under the fire from Fifth Fleet, which was steadily regaining its equilibrium, and spun wildly to avoid even more fire pouring into it as a small snowflake cluster of mines nearby detonated, spraying the Basestar's bow with ionic beams and weaking its shields significantly.

That distraction caused by the mines, however, wouldn't last long. Indeed, even as he watched, the two heavily damaged Basestars disappeared in a blaze of distortion. The other six Basestars had already regrouped and were ignoring several other snowflake detonations and their resulting spray of beams as they swung wide and tried to flank Fifth Fleet. The _Shiva_ rocked hard as several neutron beams raked the shields of the dreadnought but they held. Yung spun back to the main display. "Othello, status of the beam-outs?" He called out desperately.

"I have retrieved a large number of survivors but I require another eighty four point six seconds to complete the evacuation." The _Shiva's_ AI replied with eminent satisfaction. "I've also found one…correction, two heavily damaged Basestars. They are in the Oort Cloud, at their earlier co-ordinates."

"Forty seconds to missile impact." The TAO reminded everyone tersely. While he was too experienced to have 'lost the bubble', he realised the Neo-Cylons were regaining the initiative and forcing him into an unattractive choice. Rescuing the remaining survivors means risking the Fleet and losing more ships which, with the loss of his entire screen, was something he simply could no longer afford to do. "Secure rescue operations, Othello."

Yung glared at the two pulsating lights that indicated the two Basestars that had narrowly escaped destruction. "Fleet orders. Make the jump to hyperspace immediately. Reform at Point Bravo. We've got one last thing to do before we retire back to Masada…"

* * *

On the massive holographic display, the blue icons of Fifth Fleet scattered wildly, flared white and streaked off the boundary of the display. A secondary display appeared, showing a larger scale view of the solar system that showed the Alliance ships speeding through hyperspace before dropping out just outside the system spread along a hundred and forty degree arc. Thirty seconds later, the first of those ships had reoriented on a point high above the system ecliptic and were streaking back across the solar system.

Vice Admiral Hirohito closed his eyes for a brief moment and said a prayer for those lost in the first clash. Three Basestars had been destroyed and two heavily damaged for the loss of two battlecruisers and twenty-eight escorts, in addition to the majority of mines expended over a sixty degree arc surrounding Gryphon. No doubt about it, Gryphon's orbital line of defensive had been decisively breached. Six, top-of-line Neo-Cylon Basestars remained, practically untouched and they were now moving into gryphon orbit, engaging the orbital platforms at long range, widening the breach for land operations no doubt.

He glanced at a nearby screen that displayed the timeline for Operation Sneak Play. Admiral Serena and the Larnak strike force wouldn't arrive for another eighteen hours. There was no real idea how long the fight would take once there but Serena was hopeful that they had the force advantage, for a change and that it should take more than a few hours to pin down and destroy the Neo-Cylon defensive fleet and the shipyards.

At best, the strike force wouldn't be back to support Gryphon for at least two days.

On the other side of the coin, Admiral J'Thuk had confirmed that with the exception of three Basestars that had gone missing, the entire Neo-Cylon Fleet was either here or at Larnak. As planned, upon confirming this assumption, he issued a recall of the Third and Tenth Fleets who were spread across sector neighbouring Gryphon. They would be assembled in five days so even if something went wrong with the Larnak strike force, Gryphon's eventual safety would be assured.

He just had to hold out till then.

Another display with a direct feed to Wakazi Command caught his attention as Ground Force Marshall Roberts dropped into view, his face grim. "Admiral. Your flyboys and girls are doing wonders but it's a bit of a stalemate at the moment. They can't break through our defences but we can't seem to push them out of atmo either. Losses are light on both sides at this point but the fightings only just begun and that will no doubt change soon enough."

Hirohito nodded what machines lacked in creativity and invention, they made up for in tenacity and sheer endurance. "The Fifth is regrouping and pulling back to Masada as we speak. I want to take at least a couple of hours to repair and rearm before I send them out once more."

"Without the screen…" Tadeshi commented, concern etched across his face.

"…our tactical options are greatly reduced." The Admiral finished heavily. "Yung is going to have to be a lot more aggressive in the next encounter. Without a practical screen, any long-range sparring simply plays to their advantages. I'm confident, however, that Yung can still make the Neo-Cylon fleet tread cautiously. They're going to be a tough nut to crack, though. We were lucky to catch them with the mines as well as we did. They'll be a lot more wary now on."

Tadeshi opened his mouth to reply when alarms started to sound and a faint rumble could be heard in the background. He looked around, cursed and turned back to Hirohito. "We're taking fire from the orbiting Basestars. I'll get back to you."

* * *

Leaping from his chair, Tadeshi practically ran over to the main display. The Command Centre was twenty levels deep below Wakazi Military City but even this deep, he could hear and feel the rumble of the shields absorbing the orbital bombardment.

"Report!" He commanded verbally. As the man in charge of the entire Ground Forces of the Alliance, he was one of the first of the top most officers in the Alliance to have a neural link. He was also, like much of his generation, not overly fond of using it and retained his habit of actually talking to his collegues. The young kids in uniform might like to work in silence but a room full of people using their neural link was just too creepy for him to take at times.

Major Johnathan Narotu, who also had a link but actually liked to use it, looked up from his repeater display. "Marshall, we have three Basestars with heavy Raider escort entering atmosphere near the equator that seem to be on a general course for the Manticore City/Shipyards. Both Manticore and Wakazi are currently taking fire from the three remaining Basestars in orbit. Drain is at three percent for both PDC shields but that's well within recharge tolerances and overall levels are holding steady. At present, we can hold out against this level of bombardment for several weeks."

Tadeshi nodded in satisfaction. The SSD techs had promised that whilst their shields might not be as technically advanced as those of the Neo-Cylon's, the sheer power that the PDC reactors could produce would offset that advantage completely. "They're not hitting the Capital?" Tadeshi followed up.

Narotu shook his head. "I guess the Queen doesn't rate as a threat to them."

Despite the dire situation, Tadeshi grinned devilishly. "By the Light, don't let Her Majesty hear you say that!" Taking a deep breath, he looked back at the main display.

The three incoming Basestars were now only two thousand kilometres from Manticore at an altitude of eighteen kilometres and dropping fast. They were taking intense fire from at least seven PDC's in the region but they would soon fall below the horizon for most of them and they would arrive at their destination relatively unscathed.

"What's the story with the fighter battle?" He asked out loud.

A Navy Captain glanced up at the Marshall and began sending a report of the fight so far over the neural link.

Tadeshi felt the information wash over him. With over six hundred Alliance fighters engaged against four hundred Raiders, the Neo-Cylons seemed to be fighting a defensive battle, purely to keep his fighters occupied. While he welcomed the information, he glared at the Captain for providing the information in the manner she did. It set his teeth on edge.

"I have an entire Air Wing of bombers waiting for your orders, Marshall." The Navy Captain pressed gently.

Tadeshi shook his head. "They're my ace in the hole. I'll have work for them soon but for the moment, keep them on standby. I want those Raiders out of my sky though!"

The Captain nodded his acknowledgement and turned back to his console. Tadeshi glanced at the map. "Pass the word to our people at Manticore. They're about to have company."

* * *

Fifth Fleet dropped out of hyperspace, stressing the drives to their limits as they forced their ships through the 'transition windows' before they had barely finished opening.

Yung was supposed to have returned to Masada immediately to repair and rearm but having tracked the two lame Basestars back to the Oort Cloud, he trusted in the fact that the eight intact Basestars in orbit of Gryphon would be too busy sparring with the defences there to come to the aid of their wounded brethren.

And so he had ordered an emergency hyperspace exit right on top of the enemy. They couldn't match the enemies' point to point FTL drive but the emergency exit maneuver did shave off a significant amount of the time it takes to exit hyperspace, although at the cost of significantly stressing the hyperdrives themselves. Despite the additional strain to the fleet's hyperdrives, the hastily put together plan succeeded and they managed to surpise the two wounded Basestars that were huddled around a massive metal rich asteroid.

The Fleet emerged in a shallow bowl formation and opened fire immediately.

Particle lances and ion bolts tore into the Basestar's that struck back with their own weapons, a futile gesture but one that still had to be made, even as they died in a hurricane of fire.

Two thunderous explosions and thirty seconds later, Fifth Fleet jumped back into hyperspace, towards Masada in order to repair and rearm. Energetic plasma and shattered wreckage slowly expanded outwards as the last battleship went FTL, casting a yellow pall over the nearby asteroids that continued their silent vigil over the depths of space.

As the Shiva sped through hyperspace, Yung rubbed his eyes, suddenly feeling bone weary, his arms leaden and heavy as the adrenaline slowly bled from his system. Those had been the easy kills. It was far from over.

**)) Manticore Defense Line, Northern Sector, Gryphon. ((**

Sintesian War-Colonel J'Fan wondered, not for the first time, how the hell he found himself half-way across the Galaxy, leading a brigade of humans against an invasion of merciless killing machines. With a deep snort that reverberated across the silent trench, the bear-like humanoid heaved his massive bulk into an upright position as he decided to run one last check of his position before the Neo-Cylons arrived.

Fighters from both sides continued to duel in the skies above the vast City-Shipyards. Smoke trails from missiles, vapour condensate and battle damage crisscrossed the sky, each thelling their own story of victory or defeat.

The constant pounding of the PDC's cannons lit up the area in some strange parody of a lightning storm but in the day. The ripples of the shields as the orbital bombard slammed into them added to the strange sight above them.

With deceptive ease, he picked up his weapon, a class-four 'light' plasma cannon that used to be mounted on Sintesian fleet corvettes. While his kind were physically blessed with immense strength, it was the Sintesian version of Combat Armour that made the use of a ship-mounted plasma cannon practical in ground combat.

Sintesian ground combat doctrine was not one of maneuver. They were one of the few species in the Galaxy that were comfortable, even eager to go toe-to-toe with Jaffa Legions in a straight up fight.

J'Fan felt his snout pull back in a grin. No-one ever accused his people of being too smart. It took the humans from Earth to show them the advantages of sneakiness and discretion. With their help, they had won their long fight with the Goa'uld System Lord Osiris relatively quickly and the Sintesian military had learned the appropriate lessons accordingly. Despite this, they still retained a deep-seated preference towards heavy armour and heavier weapons and were often inclined towards any particular tactical doctrine that supported this.

As a result, Sintesian soldiers were more and more often finding themselves providing the heavy support for individual fireteams.

"Colonel, the Basestar's are slowing down." A human corporal called out. He was sat in the field command post in front of a holographic console.

J'Fan nodded, unsurprised. If they came any closer to Manticore they would have ended up engaging the PDC and auxilary defensive emplacements directly. Much like the Goa'uld Union did many years ago, it was expected that the Neo-Cylon's would land their capital ships and take their objectives in a ground assault. It really was the only practical way to attack a heavily shielded ground position since a shield generally had issues dealing with solid ground, escpially ones of a high ore content. It created an interference zone between the shield and the ground of about fifteen hundred feet. More than enough to allow small, low flying craft and ground units to penetrate the shield perimeter.

"They coming down in the Daikato Fields?" He asked the corporal, referring to the massive plains who nodded back in reply.

"They'll make touchdown in less than fifteen minutes and given previous engagements, i would anticipate close to to eighty to one hundred thousand Centurions on Manticore's doorstep within the hour."

J'Fan glared at the icons that were settling down less than ten kilometers away. The three Basestars had exchanged fire with the PDC as they had landed but, just the Neo's were unable to penetrate the powerful city shields, the weapons batteries of the PDC's were unable to damage those of the Basestars.

This battle would be fought and won on the ground.

His ancestor's would have approved.

"All right, you hairless monkeys!" He shouted out fiercely. "Get your backsides into position and dialed in. Standard Neo-Centurion doctrine means they'll be coming at like Jaffa of the old school, dumb and happy, straight into our guns."

There were a few smiles and chuckles at that mental picture and J'Fan snarled at them, mightily pissed off. "If you primates think these mechanical _b'zorn_ will go down as easily as a snake-lovin' Jaffa then think again! These Centurions will take every erg of energy we throw at them and smile as they keep advancing. Now get your asses into position!"

He looked on in grim amusement as the soldiers around scattered and took up their positions on the outer defensive line.

After the Goa'uld Invasion of 2010, the defensive positions that had been laboriously built up during that period had not been dismantled. Being a civilization that prided itself on its martial abilities as much as its culture, the artisans and architects of Gryphon had, with spectacular use of flowers and dense foliage, artfully hidden the trenches and bunkers, making them appear to be part of the overall design of each city. To the casual observer, the cities of Gryphon were pictures of Paradise under underneath that thin veneer, the defenses that had held against an army millions waited silently for the time they would once again be needed.

And that time was now.

Minutes passed as J'Fan kept an eye on the orbital feeds monitoring the Centurion Legions marching out from under the descended Basestars and across the Daikato Fields towards them. The numbers of Centurions were alarming. The Basestars must have been packed to the bulkheads with machines for each vessel had disgorged around forty thousand Centurions. More than their worse case estimates had predicted.

In terms of absolute numbers, the Goa'uld Invasion had thrown far more Jaffa at Gryphon, albeit spread across the twenty odd cities across the planet. Unfortunately for her defenders, each Centurion was worth at least six Jaffa and their were all focusing on Manticore, no doubt intending to capture her factories and shipyards intact, multiplying Neo-Cylon manufacturing capabilities by several factors.

Marshall Roberts was no fool, J'Fan thought respectfully. He had no intention of trying to hold the first, second or even third defense line against one hundred and twenty thousand machines. The Centurions were simply too strong and trying to hold a line in the sand would only deplete his strength far faster than anyone would like, especially the soldiers being 'depleted'.

Instead, Roberts had decided to trade space for time. Each defensive position would hold and bleed the enemy until they were forced to withdraw. Each unit could fall back under the covering fire of the other positions in a standard leapfroging retreat. Mortars, artillery and airstrikes would strike the enemy from all sides continually. This action would be repeated across the entire line and it was hoped that by the time they had fallen back to the inner city wall, they would have bled the enemy enough to be able to hold their position.

The enemy would not stop for casualties. Its morale could not be broken. Each and every machine would have to be destroyed.

It was only six kilometres from the outer line to the inner city wall. Whilst a significant amount of industry was outside the wall and part of the defensive fortifications, the truly critical industries and shipyards were inside the wall's perimeter. Gryphon Defense Planners were willing to accept the loss of everything beyond the wall if it meant destroying the enemy and prevent him from capturing the shipyards. The fate of the planet hung on six kilometres. An overly dramatic notion, to be sure, but not entirely inaccurate. The Neo-Cylons had shown a scary talent for assimilating exisiting technology for their own purposes, even more so than the original Replicators. With the vast shipyards and factories of Manticore…well, calling the situation grim would be more than a little understated.

A rise in the murmuring of the soldiers around him brough him out of his thoughts. Looking up, he saw everyone staring out across the upcoming battlefield. A massive cloud of dust was rising and growing larger with every second.

A quick mental command and his armour helmet deployed around his massive head. The visual systems of the helmet were already locked onto the approaching dust cloud and the magnification increased dramatically. At just eight kilometres away, J'Fan could see a massive line of silver and gold Centurions moving at a steady twenty kilometres an hour towards them.

There was little fanfare at this point. The heavy artillery opened up without warning and explosions began slamming in and around the advancing Centurions.

They never slowed or hesitated as several Centurions were knocked down by each blast. Even from here, J'Fan could see that those knocked down bore little damage. The artillery was little more than an inconvenience to them at this point. It didn't matter. Every little bit helped.

The Centurions continued to advanced fearlessly, drawing closer with every second.

Targeting lasers sprouted from the defensive line as Katana tanks up and down the perimeter began marking targets. There was a strange silence that fell before J'Fan felt a thunderous crack as the nearest Katana fired its main cannon, an oversized railgun. Hundreds of other tanks opened fire and it was like ground lighting as white flashes and ear splitting cracks tore up and down the defensive perimeter.

Earlier battles had shown that the defensive properties of a Neo-Cylon Centurion were deeply impressive and most energy weapon fire was blocked or diverted by its shields and infantry railgun rounds, such as those fired from the highly effective Widowmaker rifles, didn't do enough individual damage to destroy a Centurion with any speed thanks to its composite alloy armour.

The Katana tanks, unlike the Tau'ri designed Abrams and its stubby Ion Cannon, fired a 40mm railgun round had been accelerated to one quarter lightspeed before leaving the long, rectangular barrel. Each round was made of solid tungsten with naquadah tips, carried no warhead for the kinetic energy with which they slammed into a target was almost as explosive as anything in the non-nuclear arsenal. The rounds punched into the Centurions and in almost cases tearing through them and at least five Centurions behind them. The damage to each Centurion was significant and in many cases, deadly, but many survived the attack, albeit greviously injured. Given time, they would have repaired themselves to some sort of operational state but the continued rain of artillery had the added benefit of finishing off the damaged units beyond any hope of internal recovery.

It was a modification, or more accurate, an extrapolation of the combined arms tactic of using a plasma weapon in junction with two or three Widowmakers to defeat the Centurion protection that would have held against either weapon individually. Developed by Brigadier Lyman, the rumor went that an armour officer had overheard one of the tactical briefings he was giving on the subject and decided that he could expand on the same process to make his tanks more effective.

And effective it was but the numbers culled from the advancing Centurions was but a tithe. The leading elements of the Neo-Cylon ground force had crossed six kilometres during fifteen minutes of murderous fire and had lost a mere eleven thousand. Less than ten percent.

J'Fan feel a very real shudder of fear work its way down his spine. That kind of toll would have broken the moral of all but the most insane of armies but the Centurions advanced into Hell itself remorselessly.

A little window popped up in his visual field and the grim face of Brigadier Lyman appeared.

"Alright, people, they're almost in range of our guns. Set your targets and synchronise your fire." He ordered confidently. "I catch anyone wasting ammo on individual potshots and I'll see to they're reassigned to escorting science teams for the next six months."

* * *

Inside Wakazi Command, Ground Force Marshall Roberts stared unblinking at the visual feeds from the battlefront in the northern sector of Manticore.

The enemy was now engaging the perimeter defences and it was immediately apparent that if it wasn't for the profligate use of nearly every weapon in the Ground Force arsenal, the Centurions would have simply washed over them.

As it was, the sheer magnitude of the fire that met the savaged leading elements of the Centurion hordes had actually stopped their forward-long charge, if only momentarily. The machines had regrouped with eerily cold precision and scary synchronization and reformed into several sub formations that had advanced under the supporting fire of a large number of Centurions that had taken up stationary positions using their own dead for cover.

Under the machine-precise fire, the perimeter forces were rocked back onto their heels. Almost immediately, local commanders began falling back to their pre-planned positions and the entire fight dissolved into a series of battalion-level skirmishes across the entire front.

It was turning into a horrible, confused mess but Roberts hoped that it played to their strengths, rather then the cool predictability of the machines they were facing.

General Bannon stepped up beside him in full battle armour but with her helmet stowed internally. Her armour showed several scorch marks where she had clearly been tagged by enemy fire.

Marshall Roberts turned to her and flashed a small smile of greeting. "How are things progressing?" Once it had beem confirmed that all of the Neo-Cylons efforts were being directed towards Manticore, Roberts had decided to strip some of the forces from the other cities defences to creating a force that would strike their invading Centurions from the rear, easing some of the pressure off the defenders.

Bannon shook her head grimly, her face still a picture of beauty wearing such an expression. Despite her age, she still bore most of the beauty that had blessed her during her early years and where incongruent with her violent career.

"Anxious. The data coming from Manticore is somewhat daunting and the waiting is killing us more than anything. Units from the other cities are marshalling outside now and I hope to be ready to hit their rear in an hour, maybe two. As long as they don't receive anymore reinforcements, we should be able to contain the situation somewhat." She looked at him with a pessimistic expression. "Can we prevent them from landing more Centurions?"

Roberts sighed. "The enemy currently holds the high orbitals above Manticore which appears to be their primary objective. They've cleared out the defences for four thousand kilometeres in every direction. The three Basestars that landed have now taken off once more and rejoined the group in orbit bringing their numbers back up to eight. They're currently just sitting up there and raining fire on Manticore's shields which are being drained somewhat but are days from failure at the current level of bombardment. That will change if they press their attack but like I said, at the moment, they seem content to just sit up there and see how the ground attack works out."

"Can we do anything if they try to land more troops?" She asked cautiously. It had been discussed in the briefings but they was no conclusive plan in place, just a lot of contingencies.

The other man grimaced. "Commodore Yung got mauled in the first engagement and lost practically all of his lighter ships. He still has his heavy hitters and they're all in relatively good shape so hopefully, we can get him to spoil any fresh attack they may make."

"Fleet reinforcements?"

Again, Roberts frowned. "Three squadrons will arrive in two days. A larger force is assembline en-route and will likely arrive within four. The odds of us losing Gryphon totally are small."

Bannon matched the Marshall's frown as she thought of her husband out fighting on the front lines. "What are the odds of losing the city/shipyards though?"

The Ground Force Marshall had no answer for her.

**)) Battlestar Galactica, Ninth Fleet, Twelve Colonies ((**

Galen worked his steadily through the crawlspaces at a pace a human would have been hard pressed to match. As he turned at one of the junctions, he saw his target, a non-descript access hatch. With nary a pause, he opened the hatch and dropped into the empty corridor. The interference from the tunnels had masked his signature but it had also masked that of the other Cylon onboard Galactica, the Valerii. Now though, after doubling back on a long and winding route though the crawlspaces, he ended up relatively close to his original position of the briefing room.

Closing his eyes for just a moment, he used his somewhat limited internal sensors to reach out. Whilst his networking module had been pulled as part of the boxing processing, he still retained the basic signal strength indicator. Almost immediately, he got a bearing on a Cylon network signal. Faint, but there.

He smiled darkly. _Whilst you may not have a use for your networking module, my dear Sharon, I on the other hand have something very important I wish to share with our brothers and sisters._

* * *

The first report of gunfire from near the CIC caused Harper to punch the bulkhead. Violently.

Galen wasn't going after the shuttle. _If he's not going for the shuttle and he can't access the Galactica's comms, how the hell does he plan to use Pandora?_

Pushing aside his anger at being in the wrong place, and ignoring the deep, fist sized dent in the armour plating, he opened up a channel to all his units. "Disregard the Cylon shuttle. Target is on deck eight, heading towards CIC. All units converge."

Harper gestured for his men to follow and began pounding down the corridor towards CIC.

* * *

The Galactica shook once more and Boomer grabbed hold of the railing with one hand and held the other protectively across her growing baby bump.

Adama's gruff voice was calling out orders and countermeasures to the neo-Cylon attack but its was all vague as she was distracted by a tiny but nagging buzzing in her mind. It had started shortly after the Neo-Cylons had arrived and it had, quite frankly, terrified her. She had read all the reports about the Replictaor assimilation of Cylons and how this Lord Lazarus continued to absorb Cylons into his group-mind.

Frightned out of her wits, she still couldn't quite bring herself to voice her fears to any of the others although she felt a lot better about things when the holographic command of the Trident had appeared beside her after Tyrol had reluctantly returned to his duty station during the crisis.

"I'm masking their signal with as much ECM as I can." Maximillian had gently informed her. "Combined with your own safeguards and the fact that you aren't actively using your networking functions, youyou're your child should be perfectly safe."

Boomer nodded with relief and smiled tremulously. The AI smiled back reassuringly and disappeared as silently as he had arrived.

She had barely begun to regain her equilibrium when the sound of gunfire came from the corridor outside CIC. The two Troopers by the door spun around and back away, their weapons aimed in readiness. They tried silently to raise the two guards station outside the door but they received nothing in reply.

Colonel Harper's command to hold CIC was as superfluous as it was obvious but the two Troopers took it with complete seriousness. The Colonel was spitting mad and neaither man wanted to give him any reason to direct their anger at them when he did arrive.

Colonel Tigh's strident voice cut across the room as the rest of the staff began to hunker down in preparation of a firefight.

Adama's stern tones as he handed off control of the fight outside the Galactica to one of the other ships in the fleet.

Fearing for her own safety, she considered making her way to the other exit on the far side of the centre but realised that what was about to happen wouldn't give her enough time and that being in the open could prove deadly.

Her thoughts seemed prophetic as the hatch to CIC creaked open a hand-span and two Alliance-type flashbangs came rolling in.

Before anyone could react, they exploded with a massive burst of sound, light and EMP.

With the exception of the two Troopers, everyone in CIC was stunned by the combined effects in such close confines. Herself included.

Wearing armour, the two troopers were immune to the sound, hardened against the EMP and their visual filters were tuned against the effects of their own flashbangs.

Steadying themselves to cut down whoever dared to enter CIC, them found themselves literally unable to fire as Galen held a dead Trooper from outside upright, in each hand, between himself and the two Troopers guarding the inside of CIC.

The two Troopers repeatedly pulled their triggers but the embedded IFF codes in the armoured bodies Galen used as shields prevented them from firing on what their targeting systems saw as friendly personnel.

Galen grinned maliciously and threw one of the armoured bodies at one Trooper as he charged the other. A quick flurry of blows and the off-balance guard fell before the Cylon, dead. The final Trooper had dodged the body of his teammate, cast aside his weapon and charged Galen with a massive non-regulation knife he kept on him at all times.

Galen spun round and loosed a high kick with one foot.

The Trooper dodged and lashed out with his knife at Galen's neck. Flexing almost inhumanly, Galen let the strike fly over him, swinging upwards with a foot that caught the knife arm of the Trooper and sent the arm upwards, leaving him open. Two quick strikes at the pressure points at the armpit of his armour and the Trooper staggered back, bruised and with a somewhat deadened arm. The armour was weakest in several areas, under the armpits being one of them. Despite its thinness, it would have held out against hits from most lifeforms but Galen was a organic Cylon designed for combat with strength of incredible proportions.

The Trooper passed the knife onto his good arm and pressed forward again but Galen had his measure now and dodged the first and second blows with ludicrous ease. With little fanfare, he delivered a solid jab to the weakly armoured throat of his opponent who fell to the ground, choking on a broken trachea.

Stepping over the dying body, Galen headed unerringly towards her. She tried to stand and get away but her limbs refused to work properly.

Adama growled and staggered forward in an attempt to prevent him from reaching her but Galen simply grabbed the old man and threw him back through the holographic display.

Turning back to her, her strode confidently up to her and grabbed her wrist in an iron grip.

"Now my dear, I have a very old friend who wishes to speak to our new brethren and I require your voice to do the talking."

Galen raised the index finger of his free hand and a sharp needle-like probe extended from the tip.

He placed it against her forearm. "This might hurt. A lot." He added darkly.

He began to push it in when there was a loud report and his Galen's head exploded into fine red mist.

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NOTES:

Well... :)

Looking at my current word count, i'm guessing we have another 2 chapters coming. 3 at the outside depending on what I cut/rearrange/edit.

I've got a lot of story/plots and i'm trying to wrap it with introducing new stuff.

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SORTA SPOILER NOTES: Doesn't give away a whole lot but it DOES give away something so best to avoid if you don't like that sort of thing.

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I got a lot of comments about Pandora, mostly about the use of a superweapon and the lameness factor of doing do.

Well, I agree and originally Pandora was going to be a LOT more prominent, along with STARSHATTER which also never gets used but I pretty much agree that the use of superweapons in the SG universe was completely overdone and I wasn't going to go that route. Ever.

Which is why things in WHL are progressing as they have.

And why i've done a lot of editing.

You'd hate to see how many worlds got toasted in my initial version.


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